At this moment I feel a bit like laundry that has been put through one of those old fashioned wringers - the kind from before modern washers and dryers, where you had to feed the laundry through and turn the crank and wring out all the water so you could hang it on the line. I feel like a limp, soggy, floppy puddle on the floor.

My head is pounding. My heart is racing. I look down and notice I have blood on my jeans. I think I still have blood on my hands, too.

See, today was the first time in 5 years of parenting that we had an "emergency." I say emergency in quotes because it turns out that it really wasn't that bad. I overreacted, and I am feeling kind of stupid about that. But in order to understand exactly why I overreacted, you have to understand my childhood.

I was an extremely accident prone child (ok, and teenager...and adult), and I hurt myself a lot. Now, lots of kids hurt themselves. Bruises. A few stitches. Maybe even stepping on a pin or a nail. Except I took it to the next level...I managed to hurt myself in the worst possible way that nearly always resulted in some kind of major surgery. I had had 3 surgeries by the time I was 11 years old to fix various body parts I'd broken in some strange way. And the worst one of these was the time I cut my thumb off. I won't go into gory details. The doctors were able to sew it back on and it works just fine. And while it was fairly traumatic at the time, I don't think it "scarred me for life" in the psychological sense. It was painful at the time, but I got over it. Honestly I wouldn't really put my accidents on my list of regrets.

But today....today my history became much more traumatic because I experienced it from a parent's perspective. Joseph and James were fooling around with the coffee table, trying to pick it up to prove who was the strongest. (Boys! Honestly!) Joseph dropped it, and the sharp edge landed on James's big toe. Screaming and bleeding ensued, and when Mama took his sock off, it looked like the cut extended all the way around the toe, in essence cutting the top of the toe off. (Turned out it was two different cuts, and they just looked connected because of the blood.) I freaked out, started putting pressure on the bleeding, and called both Robert and my mom with the "it's an emergency" call, certain that history was repeating itself and my not-quite-four-year-old son had just cut his big toe off. They both dropped everything and rushed over, bless them, and Mom stayed with the other kids while Robert and I took James to Doctors on Call. It took less than an hour, wasn't broken, and turned out to be just a deep cut that the doctor superglued (yes, superglued! evidently superglue has replaced stitches now days?) his toe back together and bandaged it up, and we came home.

Part of me feels very ridiculous for freaking out and overreacting so much. I mean, I have 4 children, and I thought I was used to the minor injuries by now. Robert and I are definitely not the "rush your kids to the emergency room for every minor thing" parents! (At least, I thought we weren't...) I also feel bad for pulling Robert away from work and wasting his and Mom's time with something I should have been able to handle on my own. I mean, I could have washed his toe and superglued it and put a bandage on it myself, for crying out loud!

Somehow I think it was just facing the possibility of my son going through the same thing that I had that unnerved me so much. I am so very grateful that he wasn't badly hurt - praise God for that! But I still feel like collapsing in a chair and trying to calm my fractured nerves! (Okay, I admit it - if I drank alcohol, today would be the day...) Chocolate. I am badly in need of a chocolate fix! God's de-stresser for moms who don't drink...