I have learned very quickly that the easiest way to find children Archer's age is to count the bruises on their faces. Or the bumps. Or the scratches or the band-aids or the rashes or the bee-stings or the rusty nails sticking out of their foreheads.
Before Archer, I just though every parent was abusive. All of the children running rampant in the streets with bruises and scratch marks down their necks, their parents stressed out and angry. It seemed fishy to me, all the local children, bruised and broken.
So I accept my karma and smile sweetly at every person who gasps in horror when Archer comes running down the street, bruised and bloody with scratch-marks and goose-eggs decorating his face like a Christmas tree.
Today, Archer came face to face with a little-girl exactly his age with the same yellow bruise in the same spot on her forehead. It was a match made in toddler heaven and her Dad and I watched as they went running down the sidewalk, tripping and falling and bleeding all over each other.
"Awwww. Isn't that sweet?"
"Totally."
We've all heard the "you must have dropped her on her head"s or the "that dude was dropped on the head as a baby one too many times" but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't matter how many times a child was dropped on his/her head. Kids are resilient, man. Their threshold for pain is not only impressive but on the verge of immortal. No wonder they're so fearless! No wonder they go running down cracked-streets falling on their faces, banging their heads on brick walls and poking their eyes out with sticks, laughing all the while!
And you know what? No matter how much you childproof your kitchen or yard or bathroom, toddlers will always find a way to fuck their shit up good. In fact, they will not rest until they catch themselves on fire.
Ah, to be young again, with a goose-egg the size of Texas.
GGC
