Army guys. Sword fights. Showdowns and real-deal fights in which SOMEBODY is always getting hurt. Usually just minor stuff...at least that's the way I used to categorize it. They always seem to cry and while I've been sympathetic...it's been with an edge of "suck it up, it's not that bad..."
So yesterday it was my turn. Just headed out the door to run errands and I sliced my hand open. As I sat in the minor med getting stitched up with only mild lidocaine coverage, I realized no matter the level of pain we all want comfort. Okay, that wasn't the brain surgery part of the equation. The aha! moment was that I have a tendency to hurry my comforting so we can get back to 'regular life.' The thing is, that comforting is part of regular life.
Since I'm milking this for all the dish-less days possible...I believe I'll hold whichever bain get hurts a little longer next time....and remember wanting my own mother as I sat on that exam table last night.