Dear Fire House:
I hate you when you decide it's time to test the sirens on your engines at the exact moment I finally have gotten my sweet baby boy to sleep.
But I love you when my baby is gushing blood from his mouth and I only have to run 20 ft to get medical attention.
He split open the piece of skin that connects your upper lip to your gum. No stitches needed. He's fine. I'm not sure about me.
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