we're all all right

The third, and final part of my Monday (read all about our swimming lessons and cleaning my dishwasher if you'd like). As I've said before, sometimes I have better things to do than to write about what has already happened, so forgive me for the time delay.

This is a further view into my maternal personality. Grab a cookie.

Baby Wonder fell down the stairs. And I don't mean a little tumble resulting in snuggles and all-better kisses. I mean he was scooting down on his butt like a good, obedient baby, and then he decided that he wanted to walk like a 10 year old. He stood up and took a step, resulting not in reaching the next stair, as he obviously planned on, but in a head-over-heals plummet of doom down the long, albeit carpeted, stairs to the landing below. I screamed for my husband like a maniac as he was falling, because he can fix everything and I was sure that he would catch him in time, even though he was all the way in the living room. A ridiculous assumption, I understand, but as my frantic attempts to catch him failed, my brain went straight to the next alternative: robocop.

Why is it that though everything happens in slow motion, you are never actually able to do something about it? If it was happening so stinkin' slow, why couldn't I catch him??

I reached the landing no more than a second after Baby Wonder. I had him in my arms and grabbed the car keys in 2 seconds flat; I was convinced he was rapidly dying of brain hemorrhaging, so I was taking him to the hospital now. That's when Mr. Rub-Some-Dirt-On-It stepped in. To his credit, he was very gentle with me.

I know Baby Wonder is the one who fell down the stairs, but I required just as much calming as the baby.

I continued to insist that you didn't see him land! Why isn't he bleeeeeedddiiinnnggg?? It was horrible, he hit his head. Why wasn't I walking in front of him? Are his eyes crossed? Why aren't we in the car, we have to GO.

Husband insisted we calm down and look him over, checking him to make sure the hysterical cries weren't more of fright than pain. We checked him and poked his little body while wrestling with a surprisingly strong resistance to an ice pack. Then Daddy Mode kicked in and he... no, didn't take him to the hospital. He got him an ice pop. To which Baby Wonder reacted exactly how Daddy thought he would: a happy squeal and a smile. Well, darn.

 I was still worried, and hadn't cried yet so I was brimming, so we compromised and called my wonderful mother-in-law at 7:45 at night. She works early, so this is pretty late for her. No questions asked, she and my father-in-law come rolling in, CVS bag and baby medicine in hand (because OF COURSE we ran out and I don't have any more).

Baby Wonder jumps off my lap and runs happily to the pair of them, clearly excited at this wonderful surprise. He's obviously ok, and I'm feeling grateful that we aren't sitting in the Emergency Room of the slowest hospital in Ohio. My MIL does whatever magic nurse check she did, assuring us that he is alright, though we should keep him up for about 2 hours just to make sure. Feed him a snack, make sure he doesn't throw up, you know, keep him up waaay past his bedtime and see if he does anything more than freak out because he's exhausted. No problem.

I feel like I should mention that my mother-in-law is a nurse, and has worked with both children and the elderly for many years, so I go to her with every bump and bruise the three of us get. I don't know what I would do if I had to figure everything out on my own. She nags me to drink water and tells me not to worry. My Mom away from Mom <3

Baby Wonder is alive and well, and the little goon woke up the next morning without even have a bump on his head or a bruise on his body.

see? one piece.

Now that you're caught up on my Monday, I can't wait to show you my Friday, and all the wonderful things I have planned for Husband's birthday!

But what to make tonight?? Shepard's pie?
Or, shoot, some pizza pull apart bread, because that stuff looks amazing.