Black and blue and red all over

Lest you think I'm the only one getting pummeled in this relationship, I should point out that I do have to tend to a variety of bumps and boo-boos on the little man. Whatever he doles out to me he seems to repeat on himself even more. 

At the moment, his legs look like they had a close encounter with a cheese grater. There's the healing scrape on his knee from falling in the park. Another from sliding down concrete steps at a baby shower last week. A bunch of fresh spots on his knees and feet - of all places - after a harsh lesson in running around the pool yesterday. Plus the random scratches from twigs and limbs as he brushes by them during his explorations outside.

His hands sport another encounter with the claw end of a cat. His fingers have teeth marks for when he can't find my shoulder and needs to chew something.

There's a bruise from god knows what on his upper thigh but I'm inclined to think it's the result of the daily thrashing on the changing table. (That thing really needs padded edges.)

His back is healing after he managed to get himself wedged in between our bed and the night stand. A lesson he still has not learned as he continues to squeeze himself in there to change my sleep number and pluck the baby monitor from its stand.

The goose egg from last month is now a faint grey mark above his eye but as he is still using his face to break a fall, I'm sure it won't be lonely there for long.

Of course, these are just the marks we can see. I'm sure he has aches and pains from running into walls, tripping over toys and getting his fingers caught in his dresser drawer.

Yet he soldiers on, rarely crying when injured, wearing his battle wounds like a badge of honor; another victory in the daily parade of new events and discoveries. After all, chicks dig scars.