Ever since we moved into our house, I’ve been paranoid about the stairs. I don’t know why. It’s not like I coated them with butter.
But I guess they’re just kind of steep and foreboding.
I kept envisioning falling down them in the dark of night. And then I worried that by envisioning myself falling down the stairs, I was actually willing it to happen. So then I started to imagine that I would fall down the stairs into a pile of money. So at least if I was bumped and bruised, I’d be rich too.
But then it sort of happened.
Yesterday, I was carrying both twins down and I slipped on the final step. I came crashing down onto my knees and Harlowe knocked her head on the hardwood floor.
My little baby girl.
No cash to cushion the fall.
Just the hardwood floor.
I was in a rush to get Chase to his GI doctor and it just happened. Harlowe started crying. I began hyperventilating.
All I could think about was….
Natasha Richardson. Brain injury. Didn’t get medical treatment. That story still haunts me.
Within minutes, Harlowe had calmed down and was even smiling. She didn’t even have much of a mark on her head. I brought her to the pediatrician who confirmed that she was completely okay. I told him to check again. He promised. She’s okay.
You know, I spend my days trying to protect my children and in one moment, I almost did the most damage.
Please forgive me Harlowe.
I will be more careful. More mindful. Less rushed.
I took this picture later in the day…
Harlowe is the one on the left who looks happy and like she still trusts her mom.
Chase is on the right and he’s not so sure anymore.