You bleed on it, you buy it.

You know, all I needed was some pajamas for Charlie. But there I go, insisting on browsing the clearance rack.

I made a bold choice and walked into Old Navy with Charlie not in his stroller. When we walked in his facial expression seemed to say something like, "Those neatly folded sweaters have no idea what they are in for." We headed to the back of the store to pick out a few pairs of ridiculously cute jammies and on the floor in the kids section was a bucket of brightly colored balls. Charlie proceeded to take all of them out. It was clearly time to go and the pajamas in my hands were just going to have to do. (I happened to be holding dinosaurs and monkeys driving cars so he's lucky I wasn't holding the cupcakes or "Daddy's Little Princess.")

But there I go, walking past the clearance rack and a shirt caught my eye. I grabbed a couple sizes and said in an overly excited tone, "Charlie, want to go to the dressing room?!?!"

"Dessing roon?" He repeated.

"Yes, the dressing room. It is going to be so fun in there!" I know, I know, I am horrid. But, come on, it's not like I said, "and there will be puppies, too!"

In the dressing room there were only two things that Charlie wanted to do: bang on the walls and roll around on the floor, neither of which are annoying or unsanitary at all.

And then it happens. Charlie trips and first his mouth and then his forehead hit the bench that's inside of the dressing room. I, of course, already have on the shirt I was trying on.

I picked his little body up and said, "Oh honey, that hurt didn't it." When I turned him around to face me and he was doing that thing where his mouth is wide open but no sound was coming out. About 30 seconds go by and then comes the scream. But it actually wasn't as loud as you would imagine because it was being muffled by his mouth pressing into my shoulder that is covered in a shirt that I don't even own yet.

I knew what I would see when I peeled his little face off of my shoulder. Yup, a blood stain.

He calmed down and I said, "Well, mommy is going to go ahead and get changed and were are going to buy these pajamas and apparently, this shirt!" which fits ok and is only sort of cute. Let me put it this way on a scale of 1 to 10, it gets a solid 6 (with a blood stain on it.) But I could not, in good conscience, put it back on the rack. Maybe if I decide I really don't like it when I get home I can just wad it up and keep it in my diaper bag to use as a rag the next time this inevitably happens again.

"Did you find everything you were looking for today ma'am."



"Yes! And then some!"



And look how nicely I match the pumpkin patch?