Can you tell I hit my head?

I went to throw the diaper bag in the trunk, and as the trunk door came up, my head went down, and *thunk*.

It hurt. After catching my breath, I sat in the car, and realized my head was bleeding and freaked myself out.

Now, if reason had not been knocked from my brain, it'd have occurred to me that because head wounds are usually bleeders, the amount of blood in proportion to the wound was swinging in my favour.

Still, it's quite an experience to drive home with a napkin clutched to your head, your husband squeezing your knee so you don't pass out, bawling because while you feel like you've been scalped, the pain isn't nearly as bad as the pain you'd feel reading the ER bill, and hoping that the heat you feel spreading under your hand isn't blood, just your pulse leaping about on top of your head, the words "it looks like you've got a nasty cut" ringing in your ears.

Fortuitously, a friend who is a nurse called me in the first minute I was in the door, and while R put the kids to bed, she kindly looked at my head. By now it was the words of my dear daughter ringing in my ears... "Mama, you feel better if I find a band-deed."

So it turns out I don't need to go to the ER. Instead I sat tonight and watched "Lost" with a bag of frozen broccoli fleurettes on my head. I have an egg on my head the size of, well, an egg, and a delightful scab with which I fully intend to impress the local high-schoolers tomorrow when they come down our street yelling curse words during my kids' nap time.

"What the *-! Look at that scab! Did you get that doing a frontside 180 pivot body variable?"

And I'd be like, "Dude!"