The Fresh Scrape


A couple weeks ago, during the normal bedtime circus, my then-just-under-five-year-old, Collier, asked if we could catalog his scabs. Used to these types of bizarre requests, I complied. We began…

“This one is from where I fell off my bike…”

“This one is from where I slipped on that water balloon…”

“This one is from…” and so on, and so on.

We got to a particularly fresh looking scrape and he cocked his head at me and asked, “Mom, where did I get this one?”

I felt a weird feeling in my stomach. Here was a scab on the leg of my eldest, and for the first time in… ever?… I didn’t know where it came from.

The origin of the scrape finally came to him, and while he was so proud of himself for being brave and not crying when he GOT the scab, I was almost crying at the thought that I wasn’t there to SEE the crash or fall or whatever caused it.

I’ve witnessed virtually every cut, scrape, bruise and blemish. I know of all of his birthmarks, that funny spot of “chicken skin” on his elbow {that weirdly enough was a sprout of hair as a newborn}, every mole and every bump.


When Collier was turning four, I was pretty shaken up. My husband, of course, thought I was being a lunatic. It wasn’t so much that the fourth birthday was a big milestone for me… it was more that it was the last year standing between my three-year-old toddler and the five-year-old kid I was not yet ready to have.

In theory, your kids growing up is a GREAT thing! Sleeping through the night… check! {Well, we sort of regress on this one every once in a while, but for the majority of time… thankfully!!} Potty trained… check! Dresses himself… check!

In reality, there’s a period of time where you’re not even quite done processing the fact that you’ve HAD a baby, let alone the fact that that baby is NOT going to be a baby forever.


May 29th, Collier turned five. While it wasn’t quite as traumatic as I anticipated, I can safely say he’s nothing short of thrilled at the idea.

I’m so excited for what’s to come; I really am. Obviously, I’m also terrified at my own reaction at what’s to come… as is my poor husband.

Thankfully, we have one more year of Pre-K left before he embarks on a big life of school buddies, bullies, homework and girlfriends {I almost just threw up at that last thought}.

Happy birthday, precious boy!


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