When I was younger, my mother would always say, "Leave your scabs ALONE. If you pick at them, it's going to form a scar.
" And yet I picked, even at the most gruesome cuts, sometimes reopening wounds and receiving infections for my actions.
As time went on, I never got over my scab obsession, so to speak. Cut my leg a little too hard during shaving? A favorable scab would pop up days later, ready for the pickin'.
Fell on the pavement outside and busted my knee? After the pain subsides in a few days, the fun begins! You know, the general scabbing cycle and what I could look forward to.
When I gave birth to my son, he was the light of my world, momentarily changing things for me and giving me something to live for.
However, it did not take long for me to find that baby skin is so versatile, so fresh, so YOUNG!
It started with a scab here and there when he would scratch himself with his new, little fingernails. A scab that I would pick off days later to find that fresh, healed skin resided underneath.
There was a new, certain pleasure to that feeling, knowing that I was working with the best skin.
And so tonight, before my husband gets home, I take the razor and shred off just a little on the back of his legs, in that place where pants will cover so nobody will be able to tell.
He screams and struggles a little bit, but I smile knowing that fresh, healed skin will take its place as we get a bit more adventurous each day, and as the scabs grow larger.
And I wait as the new scabs begin to form, ready for picking.