Monday, December 20, 2010

Battle Scars

Last night, The Boy was playing on our bed, throwing pillows around and jumping all over the place. He threw himself at a pillow, overshot his mark, and took a faceful of headboard. He split his nose open and wound up giving himself a nice shiner:

I have to say, this was almost a pleasure with which to deal. Compared to three major surgeries and several minor ones, with many port access attempts and finger sticks and chemos and others. I mean, this still sucked big time, but it wasn't the worst thing in 2010.

It's an interesting thing, raising boys. My boys tend to jump into situations face-first, which leads to many bumps, bruises, and scrapes. This is not unusual in the male portion of the species, and some frequent injury history runs in my family. The Boy's namesake, for instance, had a large portion of the family's stitches applied by doctors.

Interesting twist: if The Boy was school age, would you let him go to school, knowing that teachers are required to report any potential abuse to CYF? The thought of anyone abusing The Boy is horrifying, and the concept of parental abuse is ludicrous. However, all it takes is one irritated teacher to make a call, and certain things become annoying.

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Location:Reynolds St,Pittsburgh,United States

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