well done, mommy dearest

Nothing in the world sounds quite as horrific as the sound of one's child hitting the ground with a booming smack. When it's one's baby, say a 14 month old who has yet to walk but who loves to climb everything including the stairs; and who goes tumbling down what might as well be Mount Everest and lands at hard, wooden, uncarpeted, base camp while mother is taking a bite of a sandwich in the kitchen...well it's the stuff of haunting memories, isn't it.

It was an especially harmonious afternoon. All three children were playing and carrying on well, while mom and dad were actually getting a few projects done (Jackie Brown got what will most likely be his last backyard bath). That is when I took a moment to check in with the Kardashian sisters on "E" and make a sandwich in the kitchen. Alicia was hanging out with me, Claudia was moving around from kitchen to den, and Alex had gone upstairs to play with his latest collection of mighty beanz. Alicia crawled out of the kitchen and turned right- heading for the den, according to my eye-exam depraved vision and Kardashian-clouded brain. I had taken one bite of turkey and cheese on whole wheat when I heard the stairs erupt with thunder. The sound being created by my baby's body tumbling and hitting each step before finally reaching the bottom. Within a nanosecond, I knew it was going to be bad, but quickly prayed for the possibility that it was an inanimate object rather than an animate one. Perhaps Alex was working out some physics with his entire wooden firestation? As I turned the corner with adrenaline pumped tork, I got the special horror of seeing Alicia slam her tiny body down then lift herself to make her initial wale.

Her sweet baby nose had a curve to it as it instantly began to swell. Blood appeared in both nostrils. She quietly gasped for enough breath to release a scream filled with pain and fear to reach every corner of the house. Why this didn't have my husband bounding down the stairs I will never understand, so I called to him four times, each time my voice increasing with panicked demand. I was certain her nose was broken, I prayed her brain was sound. Her limbs pushed and strained against my hold (certainly to say, "piss off you worthless, neglectful parent!").

I held her dearly, frightfully wishing I could sooth away what had just happened. But no, I had in fact allowed my baby to crawl away from my supervision, to the stairs, to begin a 14-riser-and-tread ascent...solo. It didn't matter how many times before I had been there for her. It didn't matter that I had explained the danger of her climbing the stairs to the other two children and how they had complied by calling to me whenever they saw her head towards the stairs. Any preliminary cautions that were taken were all for not, because this time, she slipped, and no one was there to catch her bottom and guide her through her determination to reach the top. I was a wreckless mother for never insisting on a gate at the bottom. And because of my carelessness, my little one ended up at Westchester Medical, examined by whom I can only describe as the kindest and most thoroughly professional doctors I've ever met. (Dr. Patel, how I wish I could hook you up with one of my girlfriends in the city; Dr. Diamond I truly apologize for not asking you even once about your obvious neo-arrival.) They politely assured me she would be okay, except for a possible fractured nose which cannot be determined until the swelling goes down which will take about a week.

I stayed with her in the hospital for three hours before they released her. My mother-in-law appeared half way through with the calm, reassuring, nurturing skills only a mother could provide forgiving me my sin and allowing me to absolve myself in our curtained confessional.

Now the morning after, I hold my baby with a feeling of undeservedness. I pray to God with humble gratitude for...everything. Then I silently go to Mommy-Defcon 4.