One of the easiest parts of fatherhood for me to adjust to, mainly because such events happen without awareness in the moment, is the spontaneous appearance of wounds on my body. While somehow failing to register the exact incident that causes them, I might suddenly notice a bruise after getting out of the shower, or a scrape when rolling up my sleeve. I’d honestly imagine it feels a lot like alien abductees do after they wake up the morning after a close encounter.
And while I’ll usually write these injuries off to roughhousing (whether voluntarily or not) with Miles, sometimes the type of wound defies simple explanation. Today for instance, I was sitting at my computer having a typically busy day at work when I unconsciously started scratching an itch on my arm. A sharp pain compelled me to glance down, and I found a round wound, with maybe a centimeter and a half diameter. It looked more like a burn mark than anything else, and I was immediately baffled. When had this happened? If it was a burn, how on Earth had I missed it? And perhaps most importantly, how the hell had Miles burned me?
I’ve learned that such questions lead nowhere. All I can do is give myself time to heal and wonder where my next injury will appear.