Scabs

Okay, if someone would have given me a job interview for parenting, and they would've asked me, "In what ways do you think you're not qualified for this position?" I would've said, "I can't handle scab-picking or removal of any kind." I really just can't. It makes me sick when people pick at their scabs, and while I realize that it is all part of being a little boy, it doesn't make it any easier for this mommy to handle.

This morning, the boys were climbing on the fence, as usual, only this time it was the chain link fence that divides the yard. They were essentially just goofing off, but they couldn't hold themselves up on the fence for very long, since they didn't have a real great foot-hold. Well, last week, Josh skinned the crap out of his elbow at Grammi and Papi's house, and it had one honkin' scab on it, which was by no means ready to come off yet. So, when Josh slid off the fence, he scraped that gigantic scab right off, and immediately started screaming. It was a good thing I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, or I would've launched it all over the gate-- no lie. Of course, it was bleeding all over, and he was screaming, so I took him to get cleaned-up, and convinced him that a Band-Aid was probably a good idea at this point. Luckily, we had some huge flexible ones in Eric's old bicycle crash kit. Who would've thought that would come in handy with our own kids?

It's not even the blood that gets me-- it's the picking or ripping off. It's just nasty. Yes, I have performed surgery on people's pets, done autopsies, given stitches, shots, and loads of other stuff, but none of that ever bothered me. It's those pesky scabs that bother me. No thank you. So now I know the boys have reached the age when this will be a regular occurence, which is frightening. I guess I should start getting used to it!