Little E, Fat Lip
Unfortunately for my raging mommy guilt, this injury was my fault.
Little E was laying in the hallway on his belly rolling his Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine back and forth. I managed to clear Little E, but the bumper of the Mystery Machine had a fight with my flip-flop and Scooby-Doo and his ride took flight right into my poor, sweet Little E's mouth.
Blood. Tears. Swelling.
MOMMY, YOU HURT ME!
I wanted to cry, too.
I made him suck on an ice pack, wrapped in paper towels. Apparently that tasted the same to him as the Yoforia we ate on Sunday. Note to self, cross that fro-yo place off the list.
So if you run into Little E tomorrow, please don't ask for his autograph.
1) He can't write.
2) He is NOT Lisa Rinna.