Life as a Boy Mom

I've always felt that I was made to be a girl mom.  Clean, prissy, and one with a weak stomach.  I can't handle blood (Craig once faked cutting himself in the kitchen...I ran the opposite direction when I saw the "blood" aka ketchup), messes drive me crazy, and Lord only knows what I'll do when one of my boys breaks a bone and it protrudes from the skin.  Let's just hope that, whenever that happens, someone is with me and able to a) catch me as I faint, or b) hold my hair while I puke in disguest.

Never mind the weak stomach, I can't stand the thought of my baby being hurt.  Or worse, deformed.  The thought of having to rush to my injured baby on the sidelines of a football field someday breaks my heart into a million, tiny little pieces.

See what I mean??  Girl mom.

But apparently, God thought otherwise and gave me two boys.  Messy, ornery, daring, rambunctious, mischievous, (and adorable) boys.  (I can only assume the second will be just like the first!)

In five days time, my near 17-month old had me questioning whether to make a trip to the ER for an accident.  And not once, but twice.

Last Friday, he was standing on our couch.  (Parenting mistake #1)  Well, somehow he tripped and fell forward and hit his top two front teeth on the corners of the arms of the couch.  We didn't see a cut of any sort and it was past his bedtime, so we blamed the extended crying on the fact that he was tired.  The wailing continued and finally, one of us noticed blood where the top of his teeth connect to his gums.  Not gushing blood, but a line of red above both teeth. 

Of course, I felt horrible and freaked out.  I knew they were baby teeth, but let my mind wander about possible long-term consequences.  What if he loses his two front teeth?  What if he damaged the nerve?  What if he messed up his teeth for life? 

I could have sworn the teeth were pushed back, but Craig checked and said impossible since they weren't loose or wiggling.  We gave him some Tylenol (which of course, he wanted nothing to do with since it involved a syringe near his teeth) and put him to bed.  He seemed fine in the morning, but his gums were swollen and I still swore his teeth were angled back. 

Fast forward four days.  Craig is out of town for work.  I arrive home from getting Brantley from daycare and take him out of his carseat like I always do.  As I was reaching into the back seat for his shoes and socks (which he kicks off on the way home), he started crying.  He was near the tire of my car and my initial thought was "Did he burn himself?"  But I felt down by the tire and nothing that I could feel was even remotely warm.  He had a cough and runny nose, so I chalked it up to him not feeling well.  We went inside and the crying continued.  He was also very clingy and would not let me put him down.  I tried feeding him a snack, and then dinner.  He wanted none of it.  (And this is a kid that loves to eat.)  It was then that I noticed two red fingers.  I called my dad and asked if there was something on the car that could have burned him.  My dad said perhaps it could have been the brake pad.  (Parenting mistake #2)

Instantly, I felt horrible.  Like the worst mom ever.  I had no idea there was something that hot within reach that kids could find in a matter of seconds.  Literally, seconds. 

I ran his fingers under cold water and then cuddled him for a looooong time.  All while calling my mom and texting Craig for advice.  I gave him Tylenol for the pain and sprayed some OTC aloe/lidocaine on the burn.  (Which was, at that point, turning to obvious blisters.)

After a 30-minute nap on my chest (which never happens), an episode of Elmo on the iPad, and multiple books to distract him from the pain, he seemed to be doing a tad better.  Two plus hours after he burnt his fingers, he finally let me put down.  And he played until bedtime. 


I dug out a baby mitton and covered the burn, but he quickly learned how to rip it off.  I felt about a million times better when he was chasing and laughing at the dog.  But, poor kid would frequently get a sensation of pain and start fussing again. 

It definitely made for an interesting night alone.  That, and a horribly worried mama.

Oh, such is life with a boy two boys.  I suppose I better get used to it, because I have a feeling this is only the tip of the iceburg...

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