Panic in the Bedroom.

Dear Son,

Its been a few weeks since my last letter. The Christmas season has had us both in a whirl wind. If all goes as planned, you'll be making your first (of what I am sure will be many . . . many) visits to Santa today.

But - theres something else on my mind this morning.

I have to admit - for a first timer, I think I'm a pretty great mom. You and I just are just on the same page. I know its an instinct most moms have - but I feel I've honed in on mine very well. :)
Yesterday, that image of myself was tarnished a little bit.

After a week of acrobatics in the front yard, (that includes climbing a tree) all in the name of Christmas decorations - my back has been feeling more like that of a 59 year old than a 29 year old (Im still gonna blame it on the fact that its only been 8 months since I gave birth, and not on the fact that I could possibly be getting old). So, I've not been moving around as swiftly as I would like.

You still sleeping in my bed right now, and yesterday morning I heard the little sounds you make when you wake up coming from my bedroom. I hobbled by way in to get you, and there you were, in the middle of the bed - just grinning. Your usual morning greeting to me. I began making my way toward you, . . . you let out a little grunt . . . and within the matter of a nanosecond, you had made a leap to the edge of the bed. I had just made it to the bed whenever you decided to just . . . .

just . . . .

Jump Off.

Landing promptly on our hardwood floor.

You let out a scream unlike any I've ever heard from you before. I scooped you into my arms and sat on the bed with you cradled there - apologizing profusely for having let you fall . . . near tears myself. I felt every horror of being a bad parent flood my body.

I was mortified. Immediately I began making vows to you and myself of all the padding and gates and rails and soft spots and never again would we live in a house with hardwood floors and . . and . . . and . . .

anything else I could think of, all the while squeezing you so tight that looking back I wonder if it was the fall or my death grip on you that brought on the tears.

In my sorrow and heartbreak I failed to realize probably ten minutes had passed and you had long stopped crying and were squirming to be released from my grasp. I held you up - face to face - and your confused face smoothed into a huge smile . . . and you very promptly . . .

laughed in my face - then wriggled away from me . . . . off for your discoveries of the day.

Needless to say, I think I was a bit more wounded by the entire scene than you could ever think to be.

(yes, I did stand over you all day yesterday whenever you'd take a nap to make sure there was no sign of concussion or other abnormality in your behavior)

All in all . . . we made it through. (and by "we" . . . I do mean "me".)

I love you Son.