#boymom NOT for the Faint of Heart {part 4}

Memories can be so vivid. Writing can be so therapeutic. Catch up on how our Friday morning coloring got us to this place HERE, HERE, and HERE.

"Benjamin" Oh...that's my kids name. We rarely call him by his real/full name. I guess I'd forgotten what name I should be listening for and even the name I'd just scribbled on numerous line in all that paper work. Either that or I'd calmed down so much since my prince charming had arrived that fact that my lil prince's skull was cracked didn't matter any more.

Whichever way it may be, I finally snap out of it and snatch up my purse and the bleeder. I look at Matt and we both know someone has to stay in the waiting room with the girls. They did NOT need to see what was about to go down and though they are Very well-behaved, they didn't need to be left alone. {Someone might recognize their awesomeness and want to 'borrow' them...} Any how, I say, "I'll take him." As if I were doing Matt a favor. Really, I just want to be able to say, "I can be a boy mom! I started this crazy day, I can finish it!"

He stands as we head back with the nurse and offers to take my place but was a team player! He stays and locats the "on" button for the TV. #winning

After more silly shenanigans having to do with typing junk into a computer, we make it back to the exam room. This joker is hard-core and sterile. I mean, all doctor's offices feel clean but this smells of ER with tool chests full of equipment. I gently lay Jamin on the exam table, trying not to make his brains fall out of his new crevice. He has made a marvelous...stinky right before we walked back. As soon as I pull out the wipes, J decides he's going to go spelunking off the side of the table. "NO! I don't think so!" I yelled as I pull my tiny dare-devil onto his back. "You are NOT allowed to climb, roll, jump, or have fun...at least for the rest of the day!" I'd never been one of those moms. I'm pretty relaxed in letting my kids be adventurous and such but Not Today! Today, I want to twist him up in bubble wrap and rock him; forever.

Just as I begin cleaning up the filth in dude's pants the doctor, whom we'd never met and my buddy, Lacey walk in. That man's eyes round out, as big as a cartoon being smacked over the head with a frying pan. I can't help but laugh while apologizing. He dismisses himself and said they would return. Lacey follows out the door behind him chuckling and suggest I put the nasty diaper in the red-lined, "toxic" trashcan behind me.

All cleaned up and ready to get checked, we let them know "all is clear". It was amazing how un-phased the bug-eyed doctor is at the sight of Jamin's gaping wound verses his horrific diaper. He assesses the gash quickly and states, "We'll do some staples." Wow. That made my entire morning feel so...not a big deal. In a good way. They send in a "hazmat" team/guy to clean up my sad little man's hair as well as around the "scene of the accident". He is so good with J, even giving Jamin 5 stickers after letting him mash on his head to prep the area for the staples.

The doctor and Lacey return with itsy bitsy staple gun in hand. Mr Hazmat swaddles Jamin and lays him on his tummy. Jamin thinks this is a funny game as the guy talks to him silly for a moment. Then, realizing he can't move his arms and his new-foun-friend is not going to help unbundled him, Jamin frantically begins asking, "Mamma?!? Mamma?!?"

Tears. That's the only thing that want to come out as I watch that man in the white coat press a tiny stapler into my son's skin on the back of his head and giggle to make sure it was attached. The chick-chunck sound is almost more than I can bear. I just want to hold him in my lap like I did for the doctor to listen to his chest the Friday before when we discovered he had croup. I couldn't. I just had to watch him lye on that crunchy paper and I want to hold his hand like I did the Monday a few days before, as he got an ultrasound to check for a hernia. But I couldn't. I  watch. I just lean over near his face {probably Way too close to Hazmat-man} and said, "I love you baby. Mamma's right here!!!"

After the third set of chick-chuncks, I nearly knock Jamin's new friend turned foe over as I try to grab up my tiny baby boy. Making the doctor wipe the tiny new blood he has created with the 3 staples as if it were all his fault. I snuggle my crying boy and sway, not even caring what the doctor was telling me about watching for possible infection or follow-up appointments. I perk up when I hear something about when to come back and get those evil things taken out! I wanted it to all be done. A distant memory. I sucked it up. I was a good boy-mom. I even have an entire photo album of pictures I took for him as if this was a dance recital for the girls. I wanted him to be able to see the memory the rest of us would have burned into our brains. I want him to be able to laugh at how he got this scar on the back of his head when we chooses to inevitably buzz his head as a teen. I want to not be a chicken-mom but an all-or-nothing-mom!

He survived. I survived. We survived!

If we had any doubt before, he is all boy! And I'm going to have buns of steel by the time he's grown. This after noon, he woke up from nap and playing like normal. Every time he gets up to chase his sister I clench my butt. Every time he climbs in the window seal to get a better view of the cows, I clinch my toosh and take deeeeeep. Long breaths. He is already sporting his battle scar, taking his hat off to show our valley friends who ask, "How are you?"

I am officially a BOY MOM!

{does that mean he never has to do anything like this again???? ONE good stories enough, right!?!}