Did you know that babies can fall off a sofa [backwards], hit the back of their little heads on top of a marble coffee table on their way down, and not only survive, but just kind of brush it off as it was no big deal at all? I did not know this... but now I do.
We've entered mobile territory in babyland, and I cannot stress enough how much I hate it. I hate that she has all these cool toys, yet all she wants to do is pull big, heavy books off of our bookshelves and rip the pages out. I hate that she's determined to climb our wall-mounted gas heater. I hate that she's attracted to electrical outlets like flies on shit. I hate it all. As soon as she started crawling a few weeks ago, I started to REALLY hate our coffee table; It's been barricaded with our sofa pillows ever since (I know, attractive), but those pillows did not work their magic during the big fall. So now, we basically have a stupid looking living room with a dangerous coffee table. Pretty awesome, let me tell you.
I'm worried all the time... worried that I can't protect her from all things all the time. I never used to be this way. I was, perhaps, the most worry-free person I'd ever come across. But then, long story short, I got pregnant and had a pretty big miscarriage scare in my first trimester, and I've been worried about almost everything ever since. I guess I just feel like I've been given so many get out of jail free cards in my life, and I'm simply waiting for my luck to strike. It sucks, and I need to put a stop to it or it's going to consume my life. I don't want to be that mom, let alone PERSON, who is always prepared for the worst. I'm well aware that I can potentially waste my life if I continue on this path.
This fall was inevitable, and I knew it. I told Joe two weeks ago that I was bracing myself for it. I don't think I've ever heard of a parent who hasn't dealt with some sort of blow to the head when it comes to their baby or toddler. And so, it happened. Cheech and I were home alone. She screamed, and I cried. I tried to sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" through cracks in my voice to get her to calm down. It was late. I called her on call doctor. I called my mom. They both reassured me and told me what signs to look for in regards to a serious head injury. I texted Joe at work and told him the coffee table was going on craigslist first thing in the morning. She cried off and on for 20 minutes. She cried in a way I had never heard her cry before. I told her I was sorry. I hated myself (if you're wondering, I was holding her when she fell, but she wiggled herself free). I waited for her to start acting normal again, and then I reluctantly put her to bed. I woke her every 20 minutes to make sure she was ok. This annoyed her immensely. Joe came home and I broke down and sobbed. He told me he was sorry and that she was fine. I believed him because he's usually right about these kinds if things. I crawled into bed all weepy eyed, nuzzled my face into the back of her neck and thanked her for being ok. I took her to her doctor today to confirm that everything is just as it should be, and it is.
I've spent the last coupe of days feeling messy. Messy in my head, and messy in my heart. I can't help but constantly relive the events that took place. Guilt is quite powerful. I'm not going to lie to you guys... this whole "parenting" thing is hard in ways I never would have expected. Sometimes it seems as if I love Cheech too much; It is, at the same time, the best feeling and the scariest feeling. Right now, I am learning. I am learning to do my very best to focus on all the good things, and not constantly fear all the bad things. It is not easy, but I am determined to succeed.