Today while I was washing the dishes, Breanna started fussing a bit while sitting in her carrier on the floor. I had given her a few different toys – a baby doll that she loves, a plastic moon that hangs from the baby gym, a little spatula – nothing was interesting for more than thirty seconds. I only had a few more things to wash and I just wanted to finish, so I stepped up the entertainment a little.

(And this is where I am so glad that there are – to my knowledge at least – no hidden cameras in my kitchen, or anywhere in my home. One of my biggest nightmares would be finding out I’m on my own Truman Show.)

So I started singing a very rousing rendition of “The Ants Go Marching One By One” (hurrah! hurrah!) and pantomiming a little, marching in place, making silly faces, the works. Of course, the first words Breanna learns will not include any of the words from this song, though they might include “fuck!” because that’s exactly what came out of my mouth when I sliced my right ring finger with a steak knife.

Lesson learned: Do not indulge in any acrobatic dancing while washing cutlery of any sort.

It cut the pad of the finger. It wasn’t like my finger tip was hanging off, bound only by a few nerves, so I didn’t need to go to the hospital. I didn’t even need a bandage since it stopped bleeding shortly after the fact. However, being on the pad means that it’s easy to put pressure on it and holy frickin’ hell does it sting.

A few hours went by this evening and it was feeling much better. Even typing didn’t bother me. Too bad I forgot about it when I was preparing Hayley’s breakfast for the morning. Did you know that oranges are rather acidic? My finger would like you to know that yes, indeed they are.

Luckily I kept the expletives in my head this time. I’m just grateful that I was cutting the orange beside the sink so I was able to rinse the finger off quickly.

Tomorrow, I think I’ll stick with singing slow love ballads or perhaps Gregorian chanting.