core difference #20

The wife and I are, obviously, different. That being said I'd like to point out another of those differences to you. The one person who is reading this. (thanks by the way)

So, the Boy jumps off the bench from the dinner table again. This isn't unusual. He does it all the time. And each time he does, we tell him not to. This time he jumps off wearing only socks on his feet. Actually, it wasn't a jump really. He slipped and fell forward more than anything. So when he landed, he did so flat on his face. Now to understand this Boy, you need to know that he's just like me. He's a wimp. When things hurt, he lets you know. So, when he landed, there was a loud thump and then a blood curdling scream, that just kept going. Me, being the closest one, got up to asses the damage. He just laid there, face down, screaming. I did my "tired of this show" sigh and lifted him up. That's when I noticed the drops of dark red blood on my white tile floor.

This is now an urgent matter, no longer a "get an ice pack to put on the phantom injury". I decide to cup my hand under his chin to collect the blood and walk him to the bathroom. There I will rinse/wipe him off and asses the real damage that has been done. Here comes the core difference between the Wife and I.

Ready?

While I'm walking Mr. Bloody Face to the bathroom attempting to calm him down with my sage fatherly words... she yells for the Girl to get the dog out so he won't lick up the blood from the floor. Me... I could give a rip about the dog at that moment. If the dog were to jump up on the dinner table and finish my spaghetti right then, I don't think I would have minded. She, on the other hand has this overwhelming need to get the dog out. She gets the dog out and then proceeds to clean the blood. And then she comes in to see what has happened to her sweet baby boy. As I'm showing her what I think the damage is, she asks if he wants me or her to take him to the hospital. And wouldn't you know it? He says, "I want momma." I'm the one taking care of him. I'm the one with his blood and spit all over my hand and arm. I'm the one comforting him. And what thanks do I get? Give the baby a bath, put he and his sister to bed, and clean up dinner. Boo.