P - Battle Scars

"X" marks the spot! The spot where Paul and the fireplace battled it out over who would reign supreme in the living room. And guess what? The fireplace won!

I watched my baby trip over his own feet and slowly, ever so slowly, as in instant replay slow motion, collide with the corner of the fireplace bricks.

Thank God for moms. As in MY mom for just happening to be there for babysitting duties, for dabbing my baby's blood and coming with us to the ER. And for volunteering to hold my baby down if necessary while they stitched him up. As he was screaming. So that THIS mom could just wince and come to the rescue after the good/bad people let go of my baby.

After the ER visit, Paul power napped and then woke up ready to take on the world again. All full of laughter, energy, running, tripping some more, squawking up a noisy storm.

I was late for class at the college and when I shared my tale with my students, I swear every male in the room, young and not-so-young, touched various spots on their head saying things like:

"This is from the dishwasher."

"This is from the coffee table."

"This is from the curb and the bike accident."

"This is from the side of the house where my older brother tossed me like a basketball."

"This is from my brilliant idea that I could jump from the tree to the roof of the house."

And so on. And you know what? These guys can not only point out each battle scar, they are actually proud to share with you the reason their heads are scarred up. Badge of courage/stupidity/youth/boyhood/whatever.

We girls? Um, no thank you.