Wednesday, May 10, 2017. Daily Brit Wit.
A bandage/a bandaid.
“His wailing cuts through my thoughts, sharp and persistent, and effectively slicing through the meticulous train of thought I had going on. For him. My eyes flick away from the medical kit I’m rifling through and dance toward the dramatically sniffling little boy on the loo lid. He inhales in a whole-body-shudders way and red-rimmed brown eyes meet mine. I smile and hold up a plaster. His tentative smile slips into a determined frown.
‘Oh, come on, little love,’ I coo gently and swipe hair from his forehead. ‘I promise it doesn’t require stitches. Just a plaster.’
He gives me a dubious look. And then he nods.
To show that I appreciate his bravery, I put on a winning smile, no doubt looking a bit obnoxious and ridiculous. He’s still dubious yet the corner of his lips tug upward.
‘Your hand, good sir.’ I request.
His brown eyes sparkle and he’s belly laughing at my tone. ‘Oh, Mummy,’ he giggles but places his hurt left hand in my outstretched ones. ‘You promise it doesn’t need stitches?’
I barely manage myself from rolling my eyes at his drama and perhaps a tiny bit at his lack of faith in me. ‘Yeah, little love, I promise. It’s only a paper cut.'”