The saga of the unfortunate injury.

This post may very well be the straw that broke the camel's back in terms of Too Much Information. So, here is your chance to jump ship.

Go ahead. I will wait.


Seriously. I won't judge you.


Don't say I didn't warn you....


So, through a curious combination of genetics I am a person who bruises and bleeds easily. I could be having a perfectly normal conversation with you and my nose will start bleeding. A lot. It is a real conversation stopper. AWKWARD. Or, when changing, I'll look down and see a bruise the size and shape of Africa on my thigh. Or I'll be making a perfect normal salad and realize that the Feta cheese is now bright red because somehow my finger is bleeding.

The crazy part is that I don't feel and/or remember what has happened to cause the bruise or cut. Freaky high pain tolerance. Except when it comes to paper cuts and giving birth...then I'm a wimp.

So it took me a while to recognize the slightly uncomfortable feeling I was having on my chest. When I finally took time to look, I realized that there was a fairly deep cut between....ummm...'the girls'. (Honestly, if you are still reading this and don't know that I'm NOT talking about my daughters, stop now.)

How I got the cut is a mystery. The reality is that I am neither petite or mother earth enough to go without support, I needed to figure out a way to take care of the wound. So I did what any self respecting mother of daughters would do. I got a princess bandage and applied to the area. I won't lie. It has been a bit disconcerting to look down and see pink down there, but it worked. Until today. Today I hit the stage of unbearable itchiness....and it is not a place you can easily scratch without drawing attention. (Sorry to Niki and Hubby who happened to witness an attack of itchiness.) Turns out that the princess bandage, while awesome for protecting the area, gave me a horrible rash.

Yep, I'm allergic to princess bandages. The irony is not lost on me.