With great power comes great responsibility.
That’s what a great man was once told by another great man. (Spiderman by his Uncle Ben). And it’s very true.
Imagine you suddenly discovered you had magical powers. Perhaps the greatest magical power of all. The power to heal the sick. Like Jesus. I have discovered I have that power. I’m not saying that I’m Jesus or anything blasphemous like that. But it is quite a coincidence. It certainly makes a change from all the humdrum, rather unpleasant, non-magical parent work you have to do, like changing nappies. I actively avoid changing nappies. I actively seek out opportunities to use my new magical powers.
Turns out I posses the power to make any minor injury feel significantly better, simply by kissing it.
“Is it your turn to do a nappy?” My wife asks as a tell-tale smell fills the room. I strongly suspect it is.
“I think you’ll find it’s your turn, Mummy.” I lie.
“Nice try.” She says. Then, in the nick of time, our son falls over something and lightly clonks his head. I have to go in and offer magical kissing assistance.
“Sorry Mummy.” I say sadly. Her eyes narrowing at me, she takes our daughter away for a undercarriage service. I don’t feel bad. Mummy’s not above manoeuvring me into an unfair nappy change.
“Shall I kiss it better?” I ask. He nods. I kiss the back of his head and heal it.
“And there.” He says, pointing to his knee. I magic-kiss his knee better.
Mummy looks vaguely traumatised when she returns. “The next one’s yours.” She says.
Later, my son approaches looking unhappy. He seems to be hobbling slightly.
“Come here son.” I say, readying my magic lips. As he gets close a stinging odour rises from his shorts. Mummy sees my face and laughs.
Turns out he’s hobbling because of some nappy soreness. As he lies on the changing table he gazes up at me and points to his red bottom.
“Kiss better.” He pleads.