Splinters

Horror of horrors -- today, I found a splinter in Gavin's pinky finger.  A pretty large one at that.  We've been playing hard at the park these past few days, so it wasn't a HUGE surprise, but it certainly wasn't something I enjoyed seeing.  Gavin got a splinter in his foot when he was six months old, and -- I kid you not -- I called my brother (the surgeon) to remove it.  Don't get me wrong, I can deal with a lot of things.  I'm usually the one forced to restrain Gavin when he's getting shots or having his ears checked at the pediatrician.  I'm usually the one covered in vomit and/or other bodily fluids when Gavin is sick.  I'm usually the one armed with Q-tips, medications, and other forms of toddler torture should sickness or injury occur.

But splinters...  Splinters I don't do.  Something about digging into my child's skin is just too difficult for me as a mother.

So today, as I stared at this splinter in Gavin's pinky, I was faced with a dilemma.  My brothers have both moved, so calling them wasn't an option.  It seemed unreasonable to call the pediatrician (and pay a $20 copay) for her to remove it.  Which left me with...my dad.

My dad is a fantastic doctor.  He's an even better dad, and beyond that, an even more incredible grandpa.  That being said, he really fears Gavin associating him with any sort of pain.  (I think I probably scarred him from all the nasty things I yelled while he chased me around with flu shots when I was little.  I'll be real -- I didn't make it easy on him.)  When Gavin tugs at his ears, my dad won't even take a peek inside for fear that Gavin will associate him with his fear of doctors.  I get it, I totally do.  But the splinter had to come out, and Dad was the only one for the job.  So as I headed to work, leaving Gavin to eat lunch with my parents, I asked my mom to kindly persuade my dad to save my child's hand.

An hour later, I received this text from my mom:
"Splinter out.  Both cried.  Both comforting each other.  Both very brave."

(I'd like to take this moment to also thank my mom for her role in the splinter removal.  While Dad manned the tweezers, my mom restrained a crying, screaming toddler.  Not an easy feat...nor a fun one.)

Ten minutes later, I received this picture:

See, Dad?  Gavin is a lot of things, but he's not a grudge-holder.  There's nothing that can't be fixed by a good book and some cuddles from Grandpa.  In the end, Gavin's hand was saved, and grandpa and grandson were able to read their pre-nap stories in peace.

(For the record, when I picked Gavin up later that day, the first thing he did was hold out his little bandaged finger for me to kiss.  The kid loves sympathy when he's been through an ordeal.  He is his mommy's child, haha!)