There is nothing better to get your out of your self-absorbed, depressed stupor than to hear the rythmic "thump thump thump" of something heavy FLYING down the stairs. You jump up from the couch and run to the bottom on the stairs, just in time to see the baby's body fly off the last two steps and crash into the tile. Scared out of my mind. I pick up the baby. We are both sobbing. I tell BG to call Daddy right away! I know 911 is out of the question for the time being because I need to assess the damage but I'm too frantic. I run back to the couch and rock the sobbing baby.
BG tells Daddy what happened, how many steps she thinks the baby rolled down (9 or 10?!). By the time I get the phone, I'm calm enough to talk and the baby is just kind of wimpering. What calms her down is getting to "talk" to daddy on the phone. While she does this, I look over her little body. Nice goose egg on her forehead above her eye and a bruise on her belly--I actually think it may have been an "indent" from the sweater I'm wearing. Eyes look fine and now she's calm.
Wow. Forget my poor-me attitude. Forget all the "I'm living our family's worst nightmare" crap I was saying just an hour before. Forget feeling like I need to up my zoloft just to get through this cruddy time. It's true.
Being married and being a parent help to take away some selfishness. I love my kids. They are the most important "thing" in my life other than my husband. Yes, life REALLY sucks right now, but it could be worse. A LOT worse!
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