My Boo-Boo

I got a boo-boo today, see above? I haven't scraped my knee like that since I was ten years old. And it stings like hell.

Most of you who have known me awhile are aware that I'm a klutz. I have sprained both of my ankles at least three times. I'm an expert at nursing scrapes, sprains, muscle pulls, bruises - anything that you could get by running into, tripping over, falling on or twisting something. I sprained my ankle once on the way to a party back in high school and was told I couldn't leave the house unless I walked out. I grabbed a set of crutches that we had around the house (from previous sprains/breaks) and half-walked, half-hopped out.

So there's no story behind this. No excuse. No major drama. I was walking from the main building at work just across the parking lot to the the branch to deposit money. My ankle rolled out from under me and I pretty much face planted onto the ground, except for by face, I mean my toes, then my knee and then my hand as various parts of my body proceeded to break the fall.

Even worse is that it was on this concrete/seashell mix that they like to mix up around here to give it that Lowcountry, beachy feel. The only thing I felt was the jagged edges of the shells scraping off the top ten layers of my skin.

It also tore through my fucking pants. My very cute linen capris that I love - tore a six inch rip right across the knee.

There were chunks of skin hanging off. I deposited my money and hobbled back upstairs, thinking I'd just grab the first aid kit. Washed the scrape out and then we took a second look and realized it needed ice because it was swelling. It's still swollen. Took my shoes off, elevated it on my desk and prayed to god the CEO didn't walk in, as he had a habit of doing.

I was being a big girl about it, until I realized it still stung and was starting to hurt. And the ankle that I twisted, on the opposite leg, was starting to throb. I decided to call it a day and head home.

I dreaded coming home because I knew Steve would look at me and laugh for making a big deal about it because he's a mechanic and he's accidentally driven nails thorugh his hands. And as I unwrapped it, he grinned and said "That's it?"

And I just stared and pouted and grabbed the Neosporin and Peroxide. I was dabbing the Peroxide because it stung. Steve grabbed the bottle, told me to put my leg over the edge of the tub and proceeded to pour it over the cut. I cried. I grabbed his shirt. I cried some more.

I looked up at him in tears and said "Blow on it" because my mom used to blow on it.

I'm a big huge baby. I don't do pain.

But now it's better. It's still gross looking. It still stings. The ankle still hurts. But I can handle it. I may just need to wrap it though, so I don't get blood over my white comforter.

The best part of it was that after I hurt myself, I called my mom. I told her I needed a mommy. I told her what happened, which didn't surprise her because she's heard it a million times before. I called her back later tonight to tell her I was doing ok and I told her I was fine, I was well-versed in taking care of stuff like this and that I just needed a little Mommy sympathy. She asked if I needed her to come over and take care of me. I said no.

But had I said yes, she could've been here in minutes. Two months ago, at six hundred miles or twelve hours apart, that wasn't even possible.

It's great knowing some tender-loving Mommy care is right up the street if I need, even though I'm a big girl now! :-)