Sam Doesn't Need Siblings After All

ALERT! ALERT!

If you are someone that thinks people overshare on the internet... you may want to pass this post up. No, scratch that, just pass this post up.

If you want to hear the story that Sam's future wife will inevitably hear over and over again... much to Sam's dismay... read on please. :-)

It was an average Sunday night in the Turner household. Nothing really going on other than Momma and Daddy mourning the loss of another weekend.

Daddy was sitting on the couch beside Momma entertaining a certain rambunxious 20 month old and a certain needy poodle named Skipper.

Sam and Daddy were having a tickle fight and Momma wasn't paying a whole lot of attention... and that's when it happened...

Daddy jumps up and yells, "NO SAM! NO NO NO! SHIT! NO SAM! NO!"

Sam, looks around and starts to wail. Crying, sobbing, distraught mess.

This left Momma wondering what the hell just happened. But never fear, because Momma used her Go Go Gadget detective skills to figure it out.

Let's see....

Daddy and Sam were having a tickle fight.

Last I saw Sam, he was wriggling down in to the floor... the last place I saw his head was somewhere near my husband's crotch...

I KNOW! I KNOW!

My son bit down on my husband's crown jewels!

So while Justin is walking laps around the ground floor of my house, I go ahead and ask... "Did Sam just bite you in the balls?"

It was redundant, I realize that. But I needed confirmation.

Through his pain, Justin says, "Yup."

Keep in mind, my husband is making laps around the kitchen wondering why it never occurred to him to wear a cup to dinner. Sam is in the floor crying like I just bit HIM in the testicles. And yet, I'm using every once of self-control I have to not roll in the floor laughing. I mean, you can't make this stuff up!

So everything cools down, Justin and Sam make up and all is well with the world.

That is, until Justin decides to do some deeper investigation.

I hear from the bathroom... "Rikki... come here."

My 20 month old son managed to bite my husband in his gonads... which is an accomplishment in itself. He also managed to DRAW BLOOD through khaki shorts and boxers.

And not just like a paper cut blood. No, see back in the junior high, we learn that that particular "area" has lots of blood vessels. This means greater potential for bleeding.

Through my laughter (I know, I'm wrong... but c'mon!) I ask if he wants a band-aid. We both cringe at that idea. I get him some Neosporin and left him to his own devices as I went to launder the carnage.

I get back and I find out... Neosporin wouldn't stop the bleeding. It was bleeding through it.

So my husband in his infinite wisdom, puts a bandaid. On his balls.

This couldn't have been a better Sunday if it tried and brought chocolate.

And, to quote my husband about taking the bandaid off, "I'm gonna let that bitch soak in the shower for a while."

At least he is a good sport and let me write this for the world to read. God love him.