After two days of hiding her hand behind her back, slipping off for long naps and insisting that– “My arm is NOT broken!” I hauled my little Mary to the doctor’s office, i.e. the scariest place in the world (oh baby girl, if only it was).
Not one but two bones were fractured and Mary fretted for the next few days (except when her brothers distracted her) about the horrific process of obtaining a hard cast.
If you’d like to sign it we have a stack of permanent markers. But don’t sneak up behind her with any sudden movements– that arm is pretty tough.