You know...

Blood doesn't bother me...unless it's gushing out of one of my kids.  Like the time the imp bashed his mouth on his crib rail while jumping in the crib when he was about fifteen months old.  Or the time the imp took a chip out of the pixie's head by throwing a wooden alphabet block at her. 

Or, like tonight.

There's a rocker recliner in the pixie's room.  She still nurses before going to sleep (yes, she's heading toward two and a half.  That's the only time she nurses, so fuck off if you don't like it).  This afternoon, the imp was standing in it, hanging onto the back, and rocking hard enough to slam it into the wall behind it. 

And then...the pixie wandered between the rocker and the wall, and got bashed just right between the bottom of her nose and her top lip with the hard part of the back.  And that little flap of skin between the top lip and the gum got busted open, and she wound up gushing blood everywhere. 

Needless to say, the imp spent the rest of the afternoon in his room after I blistered his butt.  This is not the first time he's played in that chair like that, nor yet the first time he got spanked for it.  It is the first time the pixie got hurt while he was playing on furniture in ways I've told him not to for fear that he will be hurt. 

Yes, he's sorry he did it.  Yes, he's sorry his sister got hurt.  No, I don't think it'll keep him from doing it again.  He's four.  He knows, after the fact, that he's done something that he's going to get spanked for.  I don't think he's developed the foresight to know that before he does it.

I am still not a happy mama.  I do not like seeing my children's blood where it doesn't belong: outside of their little bodies.