Life After the Second Line

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Worst Mom Ever

Someone is going to call DCFS on me, I'm sure of it.

The day started off with me going in to get P & E out of their cribs. They were so happy to see me. E was already standing up, holding onto the side of the crib, smiling as I came in.

That would change soon enough.

I reached in and took him out of bed, then headed downstairs with him in my arms. The next thing I remember, I was holding onto him for dear life, watching my mismatched slippers soar through the air out in front of me, as I bounced down the steps on my ass. When we came to rest at the bottom, I was still gripping E, but he was sobbing. He looked ok to me, no obvious bumps, bruises, scrapes, broken bones, etc., but he just wouldn't stop crying. That's not like him. I changed his diaper and gave him a bottle, but through it all, the crying continued. Finally, maybe a half hour later, I called the doctor. He assured me that since I had not let go of E, he was most likely fine, but there was still a chance he could've broken a wrist or an elbow or something. He told me to give him some Tylenol, then keep an eye on him for the next couple of hours to see if he resumed normal activity and stopped crying. If not, then I would need to bring him to the ER.

Well, luckily, within an hour or so of the Tylenol, E was acting completely back to his old self. Scooting around, chasing P, stealing her toys, laughing -- the whole deal. He'd even gone back to pulling up on anything and everything in sight. I started to relax a bit, and by lunchtime I was feeling ok about the situation again. Our kitchen is attached to the living room, so I figured it would be safe to run out and make a sandwich. I figured wrong. In that two minutes or so, E decided to pull up on the coffee table. He does that frequently, and had been no worse for the wear up to this point. Only today, for whatever reason, he didn't just pull up and then fall back down on his well-padded diapered butt. No, no, today, he fell face forward and hit his face on the damn thing. What happened? Black eye. Yes. Nine months old, and my son has his first official black eye. It is the most pitiful looking thing I have ever seen in all my days.

So, there you have it. Worst. Mom. Ever. They're in bed right now, safe, but I do have to get them up again sooner or later. Do I dare hope we all get through the rest of the day unscathed?


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