I had felt that the boy's face was nearly perfect just the way that it was - even as it changed naturally on its own - had also hoped that his first permanent scars would be many, many years distant.
A trip to the emergency room last night, after he connected in midair with a piece of wooden furniture, playing at his friend's house.
His mother and I were tasked with "stitches or glue?" We went with glue.
The boy seemed happy enough with our decision. He is as blissfully unaware of his treasure of good looks as any true prophet of god, at least for now.
We were told that he would be too young to remember the pain of the stitches, but also might live with an irrational fear of doctors, etc.
I leaned down to kiss his head, many times when it was all over, huffing the fumes of youth.