Since last Friday I’ve sported quite the scrape across my lower left cheek (on my face). Since it’s not disfiguring and healing nicely, I have to say I’ve taken a bit of a fancy to it. Actually, not so much to the scrape itself, but to the mystique of having it.
It’s funny how differently people look at me with it. I notice their eyes shift down to it, and I like to imagine what they might be thinking as to the origins of the red gash: Knife fight? Tree branch? Wild animal? My dog?
But the thing is, I have no idea how they think I got my scrape because no one asks. That is, except the people who guess right about the origins of my scratch: my fellow moms. Any mom who’s noticed the scratch has come right out and asked, “Your baby get you?” And right there the mystique is gone. I have to ‘fess up: “Yes, my one-year-old son wasn’t happy with me putting his hat on him and he reached out to push me away and scratched me—hard—across my face.”
While I’m sure I’m deluding myself that anyone actually thinks my injury was the result of some toughness on my behalf, it’s fun to have something that makes me a little interesting on the outside. Especially since as I go through my day to day life, nothing else really stands out.
But there’s also something nice about having fellow moms recognize something that other people don’t. I spend a lot of time thinking and writing about how each of us moms are different, but it’s nice sometimes to look at the ways we’re alike and how we do know and understand each other better for being moms.