0  | 

I found this helpful Thank You! Your vote will be tallied soon!

It's this the sadest thing you've ever seen?

It was only a matter of time, mind you, but someone in my house has a black eye.

The only good thing was that it didn't happen on my watch.  I had taken Saturday off of work (i.e. motherhood) to pamper myself a little with a hair appointment and a facial, topped off with sitting in a corner of a local cafe with no one else but the latest book that I'm reading.  The Golfer was more than happy to stay home with the boys to watch some football and have some manly bonding.  The whole thing was actually his idea. 

"You deserve a day off, Babe."

Let me tell you, I didn't hesitate when he offered.  What smart mother would?  When your husband offers to watch the children so you can go do whatever it is that you would like to do, you don't let the opportunity pass you by.

And what a lovely day I had too.  I came home feeling rested and beautiful, grateful to have had a small break from my children, until I saw the Bald-Headed Monkey's face and the guilt of my indulgent day poured all over me like syrup over my kid's toasted Eggos.

It happened something like this.  All watching football on the couch, our boys wrestled and horsed around on one end while my husband sat on the other.  Then, with the Monkey perched perfectly on the arm of the couch, the Cheese Eater seized the opportunity to use his two feet to catapult his brother into an iron table leg. 

The Score:  Table--1, Monkey--0, the Cheese Eater in the penalty box. 

I had actually been waiting for something like this to happen.  Living in a house with two boys, things like black eyes and serious boo-boos are bound to happen.  When I first found out that I was having a boy, I read a book whose whole first chapter is about how regular trips to your local emergency room is expected when you are raising sons. 

Well, in the past five years, we have only been to the emergency room twice--once for a serious case of the flu when the Monkey was a baby, and another just a few weeks ago when we thought that the Monkey had a broken wrist after he had tripped over his Thomas trains (turns out it was only a sprain, which sent us home with a splint instead of a cast.)  Luckily, his black eye didn't warrant a trip to the doctor, but is definitely the worst looking of any of his prior boo-boos.

Which brings me to a realization--the Monkey is definitely the more accident prone of the two.  Of course it doesn't help when you are the little brother who is constantly being pushed into things, but the Monkey is also the one who is always jumping on my newly made bed or climbing the shelves on the pantry to get to a bag of hidden candy.  If I was a betting woman, I would put my money on the Monkey to be the first to have to get stitches or a cast...just hopefully not at the same time.

I know that this boo-boo will eventually heal like they all do, even though it only seems to be getting blacker and bluer at the moment.  So for now, I will simply have to endure the mommy guilt every time my child looks at me and sadly whines in a whisper, "I fell off the couch."

I know, Baby.  Mommy's sorry.  Mommy's sorry.