Boy Marks

Years ago my mom told me about her friend that had a young boy. Whenever this kid would fall down, get a scrap, or a bruise, his mom and dad would say "Cool! Look at that boy mark!" I always thought it was super cute and a great idea to use when I became a mom.

Now, along down the road, I am a mom. To a boy. Who loves getting boy marks.
He doesn't really know what they are yet and I don't think he really loves getting them, but he's awful good at it.

Just the other night he gave himself a particularly exciting boy mark, right on the back of his head, hidden by his shaggy blonde hair.

The story goes like this:

It had been a perfect evening to round out my birthday weekend: delicious bbq pork sandwiches and Texas Fudge Cake with Scott's brother and their family. They had just said their goodbyes and left in a whirlwind of 4 kids hyped up on chocolate. Scott and I were picking things up and tidying up around our apartment. He happened to be helping put toys away while I was finishing the dishes. All of the sudden I heard him gasp and Blake scream. Then hysterically start crying. The next instant was Scott stammering in slow motion: "I need a...something...get a...hurry a...rag...I NEED A RAG!!!!" 

I grabbed the closest dishtowel to me, later realizing it probably wasn't really the cleanest thing to be putting on a wound, and darted around the corner. I nearly had a panic attack at what I saw:

Scott had pinned Blake to the ground, face down, and was holding his hand tightly on the back of his head. Blood was trickling down Blake's neck as he was screaming and writhing trying to move. 

My first thought was: Oh my gosh, he cut an artery in his neck and it's squirting blood. 

The first thing out of my mouth was: Should I call 911???? 
Then: Do we need to call an ambulance???
Then: Do we need to go to the hospital??
Then: Do we need to call the Cutler's or Sanders?
Then: Does he need stitches?
Then: Are you sure???

Once Scott assured me he had only hit the back of his head, I scooped up Blake and held him against my chest so Scott could clean up the blood. While doing so he explained to me exactly what happened since he was trying to catch him as he was falling. Blake had climbed on his chiro table that was folded up and propped unstably against our brick wall. The weight of a child caused the table to slide down, causing Blake to essentially fold in half with the back of his head catching brick. I guess he made initial contact then scraped down the wall, thus causing the blood.

As every good parent should, we calmed our baby down, put him in the tub to clean off his head and get a better look, slapped a couple band-aids on, then snuggled him and gave him oreos before bedtime. Hopefully he didn't really need stitches because he didn't get them. But he seemed fine and was perfectly normal the next day (plus it stopped bleeding pretty quick and didn't look too deep).

It was a very exciting night to say the least.
I also realized the next day that I sure as heck better get some guts, and quick, because we're about to have two little boys around here.
Boys get hurt. Boys conk. Boys bleed. Boys break bones.
Oh boy.
I'm sure glad my hubby is doctor, and much more calm than I am.