A Lesson in Genetics

Today I backed my van into our closed garage door.  It was not my finest moment, but thankfully only one tiny swear word escaped my lips after the impact, so I guess it's not a total loss.  But the reason for the collision...genetics.  Let me explain.

My husband is the best.  Hands down.  He can do just about anything he puts his mind to, loves our family so well, and is generally just a great guy.  But.  He has one fatal flaw.  Blood and needles.  They are his Kryptonite.  He can't really stand seeing them, or worse, thinking about them.  Anytime we watch Grey's Anatomy he has to cover his eyes for the super-medical parts.  How about a little anecdote to illustrate this, shall we?

When we had our first kid, I ended up having a C-section.  Mike was a trooper through the whole surgery.  He even saw some very surgical things that he probably should have avoided looking at for his own sake.  After the delivery, while I was still on the operating table, Mike went back with newborn Emma to the nursery.  He was all garbed up in surgical scrubs, mask, booties, and the like.  And it was warm in the nursery.  Do you catch my drift?  They gave Emma a shot and down he went.  Passed out and a nurse had to catch him on the way down.  Then when he came to, he threw up!  Right next to all those shiny little newborn babies!  Oh the horror!

So when my mom met me back in the recovery room, she had to relay all the events that transpired while I was oh so peacefully getting my insides sewn back together.  And a few minutes later he joined us in the room.  IN A WHEELCHAIR.  He was being pushed by a nurse, sipping on orange juice, and had cool washcloths placed on his forehead and neck.  And everyone was like, "Are you ok?!  Can I get you anything?!"  To my husband.  Who did not just have a real live person cut out of his abdomen.  But I'm over it.

I can't find the photographic evidence of this event...it is packed in boxes from our move last August.  So the following pics of sweet Emma's birth-day will have to suffice.

Illegal hospital co-sleeping

Who let those babies have a baby?!

Fortunately, the births of our other three children have gone much more smoothly.  So that's progress.

Here's where the genetics come in.  Andrew, our eight year old, has a few warts on his hand that we have been seeing a dermatologist for.  Yesterday he went in to have them frozen again, and that results in some pretty big blisters that we have to drain.  With a needle.  So as we were rushing around to get to Vacation Bible School this morning, he asked me to drain one.  So I did.  And immediately he said, "Mom, I don't feel good."  His face was white as a sheet and he looked super sick.  He hovered over the toilet for awhile waiting to puke and I thought he had the stomach flu.  A few minutes later, I pieced it all together and realized that he just has the same weak link as his dad.

By this time, we were going to be late, so I was rushing around to get all the kids in the car.  Juggling a vomit basin (just in case), Andrew's cold water and cold washcloth, my coffee, the baby carseat, etc.  And I just went.  Didn't look in the mirror.  Didn't open the garage door until after I heard the crunch and the shattering of glass.  Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't happen to me sooner.  And, for the record, I didn't even cry.  Which is shocking since I wept last night over something silly like dishes in the sink.

Just another day here at Casa Crazy.