Bryn manages to inject a great deal of drama into literally every aspect of her life. From who gets their shoes on first to which cup she drinks from to injuries...she has an amazing flair for making it a bigger deal than necessary. I love her for it...I'm sure there's a future for her in theater (or therapy, depending on whether or not we get a handle on it early.)
Last night, we were sitting together, with Colt, reading some of the books she got for Christmas. Several of them weren't exactly heirloom quality literature, so we were reading paperbacks. Alas, the key word there is PAPER.
Since I was holding Colt, Bryn was in charge of holding the book and turning pages. Usually, she's great about such responsibility, but yesterday, she managed to get a papercut on the skin between her thumb and pointer finger.
For the record, papercuts do hurt. And a papercut right there, downright, stinks. I get it.
Bryn's reaction, however, was to go berserk. Beau came running into the living room wild-eyed for all of the racket. I calmly let him know that she'd gotten a papercut, because he was getting nothing from her except, "I NEED a bandaid. Owie, owie, it hurts, it HURTS!" over and over.
This is typical interaction for minor cuts and scrapes, but my favorite part of the whole event was, while Beau was fetching the bandaid, Bryn wailed, "SOME-BODY HELP ME! PLEASE, SOME-BOD-EE-EE-EE!"
The bandaid shaped like a yellow crayon seemed to do the trick.