Liam is at that age. The age of the head injury. Other injuries, too, but it’s mostly his poor head that takes the brunt of it. My dad jokes that this is the age that you’re afraid to take them out in public because you’re worried that someone is going to think you’ve been beating your child.
It’s not that bad (not quite) but he is, for the time being at least, constantly bruised and wounded. As of this morning, he had bruises on both shins, a scratch on his neck and two bruises on his forehead, one in purple and one in yellow. And he still has a barely visible, pale, unpigmented line on his forehead from his most recent bad head wound (bad being a relative term — I debated whether he needed urgent care and decided against it, so it wasn’t TOO bad).
And then, on top of it, he falls (he *might* have been tripped — it’s up for debate, but Benjamin was enormously apologetic for something he didn’t have any hand in) and hits his forehead on the leg of the couch again tonight. Again, right on top of his yellow bruise and his faintly maybe-scarred, almost-healed injury. And this is after a late-night Emergency Room visit earlier this week for a puncture wound to his foot from a piece of plastic from a broken toy (he’s fine).
He seems fine. This one wasn’t as bad as the last one, but I feel for my poor guy. If I didn’t remember Benjamin going through the same kind of thing, I’d be worried he’d come out permanently purple and yellow, or at least dented, from this phase of his life. Benjamin came out of it fine (although he still gets his share of injuries, too). Of course, Benjamin was never quite as exuberant or as unconcerned about his own well-being.
He’s only 18 months old, and Benjamin is just 3 1/2. I have a lot more years of this in front of me. My nerves are shot already.