This week, Jeremy took a spill off his new BMX bike. A driveway took a couple chunks of flesh and sinew and connective tissue out of his knee. I took him to the ER on Wednesday, where they sewed him up with a few stitches. He can't really bend his leg yet, to protect his stitches.
While we were waiting in an ER cubbie, a dad and a little kid entered the cubbie next to us. It sounded like they'd been in a car accident. They seemed ok, but the longer they sat in there, the more excitable and impatient the kid became.
"I'm going to be ok, Dad, right? I'm going to be ok. I don't need no doctor."
mumblemumble, said Dad.
"My heart will make me better. So will my memories."
"Yeah, yeah." Some talk about mom being pregnant.
"And mom...when she has the new baby they'll have to put her crotch back together!" the kid said, loudly and knowingly.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," sighed dad. Jeremy and I looked at each other and stifled a giggle.
That's pretty much how it works when you give birth naturally. Your crotch stretches and contorts to make way for this watermelon-sized being and then, if you're lucky and you do your kegels, it snaps back into shape, ready for adventure.
It has been recently suggested to me that what I had previously posted here would make a teenage boy's blood curdle, to suggest that his mother was somehow injured during childbirth.
It has been recently suggested to me that what I had previously posted here would make a teenage boy's blood curdle, to suggest that his mother was somehow injured during childbirth.
I wonder if Madonna has these issues.
Anyway, ER kid, if you're reading this, don't worry about your mom's crotch. It can take care of itself.
9 comments:
As a former teeenage boy, thank you. I still can not think about my mother's crotch. Writing the phrase just now hurt my psyche.
I trust your feedback, anon, and will save the graphic imagery for my new novel: Attack of the Man-Eating Crotches.
Sorry you had to go to the ER for blog material, but I'm glad you're writing. See? That wasn't so hard.
H.
It was, though. I actually had complaints!
At the risk of posting this on your blog for everyone to read and be disgusted, it's too relevant for me to pass up. I'll try to say it as cleanly as possible: When my OB was "fixing my crotch," she said that she had to stitch the hymen. My husband said that this is why you don't remember your own birth -- so you don't have to think about breaking your mother's hymen. I didn't even know you needed the hymen.
Having sex breaks your hymen, not having a baby.
Not sure why guys are so sensitive to the wellbeing of their mother's crotches. I mean, if we can talk about them, why can't they?
You might get this, then: one sentence I deleted:
"Don't they sharpen these things around here?"
Oh Gaaaak! Please. There are some boundaries in life. Get a clue.
Personally, I enjoy giving my teenager the willies now and then with unsolicited comments. Keeps him humble. My favorite was when he volunteered he was doing a report on STDs for 8th grade health and added he was just glad he didn't have to do genital warts. In which case I promptly mentioned a respondent in a study I worked on described his symptoms as "cauliflower." Figured that would take the wind out of his pubescent sails for a brief time anyway! L.
Yikes, and hahaha. Thanks for that.
Post a Comment