"My finger's all better, memere. I'm going nah-nites now"
An hour earlier, the scene at our house wasn't so calm. Ally was, we thought, upstairs watching Scooby-Doo. We were downstairs watching the Packers/Giants game until we heard a blood curling scream.
I ran upstairs to find Ally in our bed, her hand covered in blood. I got her into the bathroom and screamed for John to come up. I had her hand under water when DH came up with the band aids and Neosporin. We spent 20 fruitless minutes in there trying to get the bleeding to stop.
Dh, during that time at least got Ally calm enough tell us how exactly she had sliced her finger off laying in our bed. She brought us into the bedroom and that's when DH found them, my razors, scattered throughout the bed. She had been opening all of them (they come individually wrapped). We wrapped her finger in paper towels and brought her downstairs, where DH applied pressure and kept her arm up and I not knowing what to do, frantically Googled "How to tell if you need stitches". Very helpful, I know.
An hour later and the bleeding had slowed enough for me to see what DH was trying to tell me. She basically shaved a layer of skin off. There's nothing to actually stitch. He put a bunch of band aids on it, gave her some chocolate and I put her bed.
Now I feel like the crap-tastic mother of the year. Tomorrow I'll be off buying door locks for the bathroom closets.