Bumps, Bruises and Blood: Am I Ready For a Boy?

There is a reason why I pursued a Public Relation degree in college and not a Nursing degree like so many of my besties. And no, it's not because I liked to hear myself talk in the Public Speaking classes : ) It's because I have a major aversion to blood and bloody events. I mean, does anyone really LIKE dealing with blood? Yes - my nurse friends. But Daniel informed me the other day that I better start getting used to it because raising a boy will be a lot more bloody than raising a girl. Here's what happened:

Daniel recently took up mountain biking as part of his fitness and weight loss kick. NOTE: Does anyone else see the irony in timing? He decides to get fit just as his wife (me) gains weight like a bear preparing for hibernation while prego? I informed him I'm still keeping chocolate and ice cream in the house - a prego has got to stand her ground on some things, ya know? : ) Anyway... so the other day he comes home with a huge gash in his leg. And by huge, I mean I wanted to vomit at the sight of it. This was no little scratch. There was blood. There was openness. There was flapping skin. And worst of all - I could see layers of flesh that no one other than a surgeon is supposed to see. It was sooooo disgusting. VOMIT! My first reaction was of course - go to Urgent Care for stitches immediately! Mainly because there was no way I was about to touch that gaping hole in his leg. But he insisted it wasn't "as bad as it looked" and I just needed to clean it out and put gauze on it. I wasn't buying his story so we sent a few pics of the wound to Nurse Jill in Philadelphia to assess. She had me measure it - length and DEPTH!! VOMIT TWICE! And the consensus was that it really didn't need stitches - but I did need to clean it out and pack it with gauze. So, as the Wife of the Year that I am, I put on my big girl panties and dealt with it. And by "big girl panties" all you pregos know that I'm talking about those humungous underwear that stretch OVER my belly and have leg holes big enough to fit my ever expanding thighs. Pretty, huh?

And just when I was finishing up, Daniel sprung this on me: "This used to happen at least once a week when I was growing up. You'll become a pro once Lil D is about 3 or 4." And my thoughts? Ummmm.. not MY son! But then he reminded me that I have always dreamed of being a Football Mommy (true!) and so injuries were inevitable - unless I was hoping Lil D would become the team water boy (no!). He then proceeded to show me scars from his childhood encounters with everything from a baseball bat, to the pedal of a bike, to the time he crashed through the roof of a golf cart (don't ask...). And as strange as it sounds, that was really the first time I realized that raising a boy was going to be MUCH different than raising my little southern belle, Miss Paige. I grew up with a sister. I wasn't t tomboy by any stretch of the imagination. The biggest "wound" I received was when I cut my thumb trying to make a stage for a Barbie Fashion Show after watching the Miss Teen USA Pageant. Having a little boy is really going to rock my world - so I plan to spend these next 9 weeks or so wrapping my mind around this concept... and probably stocking up on First Aid materials. God help us all!