As the girls and I were walking home from play group today, Isla tripped and cut her leg open on a piece of concrete. We were pretty close to home, and when we got there I quickly realized that it was quite a big gash and she was going to need stitches.
She couldn’t (wouldn’t?) walk, so somehow I managed to carry both her and Ruby up a block where we could catch a taxi to the hospital. Isla is bawling her eyes out at this point, mostly because she has been terrified of the hospital since Ruby spent so long there when she was first born.
So we get a taxi and hop out a street away from the hospital so I can drop Ruby off at a friend’s house. I manage to get Isla out of the car, but I can’t pick her up to carry her because I’m holding Ruby. She’s still bawling and there is blood running down her leg. A man and woman pass by, so I ask them if she would mind holding the baby just for one second. She takes Ruby from me, I pick up crying Isla and take Ruby back. She asks me first if I’m Russian and then what is wrong with Isla. So I explain… she fell, cut herself and we’re going to the hospital for stitches (mind you, this is as we are walking through traffic and I’m carrying both children in my arms.)
“You should really put a hat on that baby.”