Keyword is ‘almost.’ Another keyword is ‘widow’ because Gym Hottie easily could be laid up in a wheelchair or worse. He does this thing with bicycles called racing, where you go really fast with a bunch of other dudes in spandex tryin’ to be all Lance Armstrong and shit. It was bound to happen but ironically could’ve been avoided if I had attended to a last-minute crisis at work thus making me home an hour later then perhaps making GH late for the race or not even having time to go. No, I got home by 5 in order for GH to attend his Tuesday night races. Coulda woulda shoulda.

At 7:02 pm, I got a call from GH’s bike buddy telling me he got in a nasty pile-up during the race and they are headed to the hospital. I pack up an already cranky baby and stop by Zip’s to pick up late dinner per GH’s request. And we waited…

So much stuff to play with though, Mama.

Where's Dada anyway?

Oh, here's Dada!

Why you in dare, Dada?

Where's my boyga, woman?

The medical resident "saving" us $$$

Doesn't everybody prep for sutures with a bag of Doritos?

Staples weren't good enough; they had to remove 'em to STITCH his head back together *exaggeration*

Welp! Ready to go!

That ER bill is gonna be a real bitch. What– oh, he’s fine and recovering nicely. Humnoy likes to gently pat Dada’s scabs and poke in the sensitive road rash spots. Other than that, I am thankful for a healthy family, the medical field (for once), and bike helmets!