I feel like if this were an Instagram post I definitely would have used the hashtag #boydad.

My youngest son (until the baby is born) Gavin and I were out in the yard doing some work. You know the kind, raking the gravel off the lawn that you plowed there from your driveway over the winter.

As usual, I was doing most of the work and Gavin was picking up and moving my yard tools out of convenient reach. Ya know, typical kid stuff.

Well, after a little while, Gavin decided he was going to ride around on his new trike. Awesome! Until I heard a thud. I look over, and there's Gavin standing there HOLDING the handlebars in his hands no longer attached to the trike. All of this while a river of blood is running off his lips onto his sweatshirt.

At this point I'm thinking what the heck just happened? He's not even crying! Just looking at me saying "daddy broke it". Typical, everyone blames me for everything that breaks around here.

Through some epic parental investigating I determined that he was steering too aggressively, ripped the handlebars off and conked himself right in the face with them. Tough little cookie though for not shedding a tear!

After getting him cleaned up I decided to take the picture. Had I been thinking, I would have snapped a photo when the wound still looked super-gnarly. Would have been great for his baby book! His first wound <3

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