I'm not quite done beating myself up over allowing my son to fall on his head. In fact, the very next day walking down the front steps of our house with the boy in the carrier, I achieved the advanced move of stepping on the hem of my right pant leg with the heel of my left shoe. We have 12 front steps. Somehow I managed to not lose my grip on the carrier and sort of pitched myself sideways so I landed in the ivy, one ass cheek slamming hard onto the step but the baby landing right side up.
That was an awesome start to the day.
A couple weeks ago my mom and I were talking about winter coats for Bo and I mentioned something about the one piece snowsuit deals and she said do NOT get one of those things because it's her experience that babies hate those things.
One day my mom decided to take us to the playground near my grandparents' house for the afternoon. She liked to take us for walks during the day, to get out of the house and do something. The playground was within walking distance but not close. It was probably a 10 minute walk for an adult alone. There were four of us at the time, ages 4,3,2, and 1 (roughly) so it was probably more like a 30 minute walk.
When we got to the playground my mom turned us loose to play while she wrestled my brother (the one year old) out of the stroller. He was pissed and thrashy because he hated his one piece snowsuit. In the time it took her to take her eyes off of us and wrangle him, my younger sister, Maria (the two year old) fell off her swing and broke her arm.
It was about 1981 or so. Mom was 25 years old. She didn't speak any English (neither did my older sister or myself). There were no cell phones. Still, she didn't panic or freak out. She got my brother back into the stroller, turned her scarf into a sling for Maria's arm, and walked all four of us back to my grandparents' house where she could call my dad at work and my grandfather could take her and Maria to the hospital.
I have no memory of the event at all. I vaguely remember Maria's arm being in a cast but barely.
I'm 32 years old. I have one kid. I speak the language. I have a cell phone and a driver's license and a car. Still, I think I would melt into a puddle of panic faced with that situation. I certainly don't think I would have the presence of mind to fashion a sling out of my scarf.
My lesson? Kids get hurt and it's not the end of the world.
No snowsuits for Bo.
And maybe one baby is enough for me.