Friday, January 25th, 2013
2 years, 2 months.
Nearly a month ago while I was converting your crib into a bed, you managed to make your way over to a wooden panel I had just removed and set aside on the other corner of your bedroom.
Unfortunately, your innocent curiosity led to the wooden panel falling and hitting you in the face.
It frightened you more than anything. While it didn’t leave a bruise, it did cut you.
If only you had my oily Italian skin, the cut would have been healed up already. Instead, weeks later there’s still a visible mark there.
Mommy and I have been faithfully applying aloe vera and Mederma for Kids on it.
I feel horrible that this happened to you.
The problem is, you’re a boy, and you wanted to be part of the action. You wanted to see me “build your big boy bed.”
Son, I am very sorry. Hopefully, the cut won’t become a permanent scar.
At the same time, I know I can’t shelter you from everything. You’re going to get hurt, no matter how much I try to protect you. There will always be some random way for you to get hurt; one that I just didn’t see coming.
For what it’s worth, last weekend while I was playing trains with you on the floor, you came charging at me with your closed fists up in the air.
Smack! The toy train in your right hand hit me directly in the middle of my forehead. What was a cut for a few days became slightly infected, officially making it a stubborn zit.
So right now, you and I both have noticeable red dots on our faces. They’re just our matching battle scars.
Still, if you end up not having a scar from this, it will be a big sigh of relief for me.
Not because you would be any less of a beautiful boy, but because it would serve as a reminder that ultimately you got hurt and I had something to do with it.
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