I promise I don't beat my kids.*
*Even though there are times when I'd totally like to.
But as covered in injuries as they perpetually seem to be, nobody would believe it. I swear, it has gotten ten times worse this summer - I guess it's the increase in time spent outside. Climbing leads to bumps and bruises. Running leads to scraped knees. Mosquitoes lead to bites, which are vigorously scratched even though I've told the kids a million times to leave them alone, which leads to scabs. And then there are the (constant) brotherly spats, which lead to even worse injuries, like fingernail and teeth marks and red welts in the shape of little handprints.
Poor Coby isn't even two yet and already seems to get the worst of it. A couple of weeks ago, Cameron accidentally toppled an (empty) bookcase over on his little brother, leaving a nasty scrape on his forehead and a bruise that was thisclose to being a total black eye. Then just a few days after that, Coby was playing outside when he tripped and hit his head on the corner of the concrete patio, resulting in a cut just above his eyebrow on the same side as his bookcase injuries. And soon afterward, a game of chase with his brothers in the kitchen left him with a fat lip.
I seriously wonder sometimes how on earth I ended up with boys. Because y'all? This rough-and-tumble bidness is going to give me a heart attack one of these days. I have the distinct feeling that if I had three girls, I wouldn't be hosing blood off my concrete or going through a box of Band-Aids a month. I highly doubt that sisters would try to strangle each other or leave scratch marks down one another's backs.
I hate when it's time for their annual check-ups at the pediatrician, because the boys are always busted up somehow. My mommy-paranoia kicks into overdrive and in my head I'm all, "I hope nobody thinks we're abusing them OMG what if they do OMG what if they get like taken away or something? Should I point out that they did it to themselves or would that just look suspicious like I was trying to hide something should I just not say anything or what?" Thank goodness they're old enough to talk now, so they can actually explain the injuries themselves. Especially since the last time, Cameron had a scab that looked eerily like a cigarette burn, and his doctor actually asked about it.
"Colin did it with the toy helicopter!" Cameron tattled cheerfully. He was glad to tell on his brother, and for once, I was glad too.
As if on cue, just as I was typing this post, a piercing scream erupted from the bedroom where they had been playing quietly, and Coby came hurtling out to the living room and threw himself dramatically onto the couch. Upon closer inspection, I noticed three scratches on both sides of his neck. Combination strangle-hold/fingernail-dig, I'd wager.