The fall
I'm standing at the top of the stairs leading to my basement and I'm busy. I'm holding my three month old. I'm holding a glass of wine. I'm preparing to descend. I'm yelling - maybe screaming actually. Nothing intelligible, just making noise. I know this is not the right thing to do as a parent - the screaming. I know this does nothing to alleviate the inherent negativity of the situation, but I do it anyway. I'm watching my two and a half year old roll, or maybe bounce, down the wooden stairs about to reach the ceramic tile landing (this started at the second stair from the top). I'm wondering how she will land. I'm hoping she will not land on her head or with a limb in a position that will bring her severe pain and make me want to vomit.
I suppose that could sound like a dream. A terrible dream where you're inexplicably helpless. Except that it's not a dream. It's what happened at my house tonight.
I couldn't just drop my infant daughter, nor could I even just leave her at the top of the stairs and tear after my falling girl. The wee one is learning to roll and I didn't feel like having that night, and the top of the stairs, be the place for the first full roll to occur. I waited there, at the top of the stairs, to watch the entire fall to see how it ended. I thought I needed to stay with her through it somehow, before leaving to put down my baby.
She was fine, at the end of the fall. Not even a bruise to provide evidence of the event. We had a cuddle and her tears quickly ended.
All she wanted to do was sit on the couch and pick up where we had left off in our big book of Robert Munsch stories. Though my daughter's tears were long gone, mine were just beginning. Not a huge outpouring, no sobbing, no wailing, just a slow stream of tears that did not want to end. I, of course, could not stop my mind from exploring how the fall could have gone, how it could have ended. A few times as we read my daughter enquired as to whether I was okay, which not surprisingly did nothing to stop the tears.
I know this story could be much worse. I know many, many people who have experienced much worse with their children. I know I will also experience much worse with both of my daughters.
I don't have to look any farther than my own siblings for examples. I have as a brother one of the most moderately-serious accident-prone people in existence. Fell from the barn hayloft two floors to the cement floor. In car accident where head slammed into windshield, with resulting scar that runs from forehead to back of head. Leg caught in dirt bike chain, leg ripped up pretty good. Choking on a Gobstopper despite numerous attempts by various school employees to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre (he swallowed it in the end). And these incidents all occurred before he entered high school. Even my other brother and I got in on the action and all three of us were in a head-on collision with a school bus.
I've never looked at other's misfortunes as blase. It's not that, now that I'm a parent, I finally understand how horrible these kinds of events are. I've always respected their severity and had an appreciation for, if not a complete understanding of, what they do to the children and parents involved. But I'm living this stuff now as a parent and that is new to me. And it's no fun. No fun at all.
I suppose that could sound like a dream. A terrible dream where you're inexplicably helpless. Except that it's not a dream. It's what happened at my house tonight.
I couldn't just drop my infant daughter, nor could I even just leave her at the top of the stairs and tear after my falling girl. The wee one is learning to roll and I didn't feel like having that night, and the top of the stairs, be the place for the first full roll to occur. I waited there, at the top of the stairs, to watch the entire fall to see how it ended. I thought I needed to stay with her through it somehow, before leaving to put down my baby.
She was fine, at the end of the fall. Not even a bruise to provide evidence of the event. We had a cuddle and her tears quickly ended.
All she wanted to do was sit on the couch and pick up where we had left off in our big book of Robert Munsch stories. Though my daughter's tears were long gone, mine were just beginning. Not a huge outpouring, no sobbing, no wailing, just a slow stream of tears that did not want to end. I, of course, could not stop my mind from exploring how the fall could have gone, how it could have ended. A few times as we read my daughter enquired as to whether I was okay, which not surprisingly did nothing to stop the tears.
I know this story could be much worse. I know many, many people who have experienced much worse with their children. I know I will also experience much worse with both of my daughters.
I don't have to look any farther than my own siblings for examples. I have as a brother one of the most moderately-serious accident-prone people in existence. Fell from the barn hayloft two floors to the cement floor. In car accident where head slammed into windshield, with resulting scar that runs from forehead to back of head. Leg caught in dirt bike chain, leg ripped up pretty good. Choking on a Gobstopper despite numerous attempts by various school employees to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre (he swallowed it in the end). And these incidents all occurred before he entered high school. Even my other brother and I got in on the action and all three of us were in a head-on collision with a school bus.
I've never looked at other's misfortunes as blase. It's not that, now that I'm a parent, I finally understand how horrible these kinds of events are. I've always respected their severity and had an appreciation for, if not a complete understanding of, what they do to the children and parents involved. But I'm living this stuff now as a parent and that is new to me. And it's no fun. No fun at all.
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