There are milestones that parents look forward to, and ones that we dread. I thought Lucie’s first fall might be a flop from the monkey bars or even a comical over-bounce a la teenage Mama C off of a trampoline. Alas, it was much sooner than I thought it would be and much more emotional for me than I had ever imagined. (Let me pause to say that everyone is healthy and well.)
Earlier this week, the evil stars aligned to create a symphony of unfortunate circumstances, resulting in a thud I never wish to hear again and a face-down infant on our (thank God) carpeted floor. For Lucie, it was probably no more traumatic than being awoken by my rogue sneeze (see previous blog post), but for a helpless observer, it was torture. I took two hours to calm down–and this was after having to leave the house for a meeting and secretly gathering my composure in the presence of strangers. Luckily, my much more rational parents were in town to serve as a tether to my otherwise flapping emotional kite. They also watched over her while Kate and I stepped away for an hour, giving us status updates, but most importantly, keeping me from driving Lucie to the ER to run a gamut of unnecessary tests.
So the short of it is that I now understand what protective motherly love is, and how it would manifest in a crisis. Let’s just say a commandment would be tested if someone ever intended to harm.
Here’s a huge thanks to the mothers who assured me that not only are babies stronger than we think, but also that they (fellow parents) have, at one point or another, been there themselves. That community raising a child? Sometimes I feel that they are lifting me, too.