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His legs aren't unlike mine

Hamlet has what Rain Dog and I call "boy legs"--bruised, scraped, skinny, and often dirty little legs.

Thing is, I have them too.

No one has ever told me that having children, especially boys, is physically painful after the childbirth part. The best I got was this oblique statement from my mother: "It shouldn't hurt to be a parent." Well, it does. Quite a bit. And quite often.

At least once a day I am injured somehow. An oversized Hamlet toy hits my ankle bone as I awkwardly carry it from one place to another. Or I bark my shin on his train table after tripping over one of his toys. (The shins are the worst place to be hit. I had bad shinsplints in college, to the extent that my legs are bumpy from where the bone repaired itself. Those spots are still very, very sensitive.)

The worst came last week. Hamlet, jumping on the bed, landed hard on my shin. I have a high pain tolerance, but even so, tears sprang to my eyes. As they did mere days later, when a dog jumping over my leg hit the exact same spot. I now sport quite the lovely double bruise.

Given the alternatives, though--no boys, or boys who are afraid of my reaction--I'll take the bruises. Getting hurt is part of learning, we tell Hamlet. Why should the lessons end just because we grew up?