Yup, that was the thought running through my head for about 18 hours this week. It all started with a cute cat coffee cup (say that 3 times fast) and a precocious 2 year old with a will of her own. Drop said coffee cup at just the right angle onto said 2 year old's toe, and the result will be this:
Wait, allow me to provide you with a closeup.
No, she could not walk on it. Yes, she literally cried in her sleep all night long, "Mmmaaammmaaa, my toe is huuurrrrtttting me." So sad. So off we went to the trusty pediatrician's in the morning, with me chanting, "Please do not be broken, please do not be broken," about a million times. Seriously, can you imagine two adults with 12 pieces of luggage, a 3 year old, and 3 non-walking children successfully navigating...well, anywhere?
Here is the drama queen totally eating up all the attention.
And here she is after we melted a hole in her nail to release the geyser of bodily fluid. Note the ecstatic expression on her face, as she is now the proud owner of a princess sticker, a sucker, a sparkly band-aid, and that most precious of all items, the tongue depressor.
Then we were pointed off in the direction of radiology, since our pediatrician, God love him, wanted to be sure he could take care of any bigger problems before we headed off to 'Opia. Enter more drama-soaking-up opportunities for the little miss.
Don't be fooled by the frown: She was soaking up all the attention.
And because he was such a trooper throughout the whole ordeal:
So I think I'll leave my dear readers in suspense. Was the toe broken, or was it not?