It turns out that I was right all along. I KNEW something was wrong. I KNEW he had a broken bone. I just needed someone to believe me.
Why did I allow myself to question my gut instinct? Poor guy was in unnecessary pain for WAY too long.
Now that ALL three boys have had at least one (or two) broken bones, I'm hoping that I've reached my mom quota and won't have to deal with this again. :)
Well, one can always hope, right?