Ian's had his share of boo-boos over the last couple of years. His first "catastrophy" was back when he was learning to stand. He loved propping himself up against our French doors to look outside. Of course balance gave way to gravity, and his forehead landed on the door hinge. That same day, he fell again and hit his head on the tile floor. Ever since, he's had one bruise after another.
The newest thing is for him to tell us about his boo-boos. A couple of days ago, he was playing with our bathroom scale. I have no idea what fascinates a toddler about a scale, but that is what he decided to play with. He picked it up despite his father's warnings, and naturally it dropped onto his big toe. Upon further inspection, Paul found some skin on Ian's toe had scrapped off. Ian shed no tears, just kept looking kind of numb. Paul bandaged the wound and Ian gingerly walked over towards me. "Mama, kiss it, make it better."
I could feel the tears swelling in my eyes, a reaction to both the empathy for poor Ian's pain and the joy at the amazing thing he just said to me. As he stood before me, I couldn't believe how brave he was, and how he truly believed my kiss would make his pain go away. I obediently bent down and kissed his sweet, bandaged toe.
The rest of the day, I kept hearing, "Kiss it, make it better." How could I resist such a request?