On Sunday, The Littlest Uncle was doing his usual stunts and crazy bouncing around with the other Little Uncles, when he hurt his foot. As the foot was still attached to his leg; there was no blood, or protruding bones, we decided to leave it and see how he went on. Anyway, he spent the whole day crawling around on the floor despite many tempting offers of 'Alien battles' with his brothers...
In the morning I was convinced he'd wake up having forgotten all about his 'poorly' foot. He hadn't. He slunk out of bed, feet not touching the ground, and continued to crawl about the house as he had done the day before. I pressed and squeezed his foot, and although he made various whining noises, I wasn't convinced. Still, he absolutely insisted it hurt too much for him to walk on. Teenage Daughter tried to 'trick' him into running by challenging him to a race to the car, something he wouldn't normally be able to resist; but he 'needed' to be carried, he couldn't even stand up!
We were supposed to be meeting Rosie at the library for 'sing and rhyme', but what a terrible mother I'd look if I turned up with a child in so much pain. So, I decided to take him to the local minor injuries department. This, I will add, involved mauling up and down steps with a baby and a three year old, neither of whom could walk properly. Anyway, on arrival we waited a while, Littlest Uncle clutching his 'poorly' foot with a pained expression, then spoke to a nurse who took our details. We were told that the waiting time was about an hour. About 20 minutes later the Littlest Uncle must have got bored, because he suddenly announced that his foot was better. It was a miracle; he was even able to run and jump. I humbly explained the miracle to the lady at the desk and went home.
Look at him, butter wouldn't melt