Mother of the Year

Raw Thoughts recently posted about an incident that, he was certain, lost him the "Father of the Year" award. Oh, what memories were triggered by the story!

Here's a happy one! I had just made myself a cup of tea with boiling water from the kettle, and I set it on the coffee table to steep while I went to switch a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. Young Tamara, who had just started pulling herself up to a standing position days earlier, was sitting in the middle of the living room, playing with her activity blanket. As I tossed clean diapers into the dryer, an unearthly scream came from the living room... and suddenly I KNEW exactly what had happened. I dropped what was in my hands and ran full-tilt into the other room (a total of four steps), where I found the cup of tea overturned and Tamara, red-faced and shrieking, soaking wet with boiling hot tea. Already crying, I snatched her up and ran with her to the bathroom, chanting "Mommy's so stupid, Mommy's so sorry, Mommy's so STUPID!" I turned the cold water on and set her in the tub, splashing her and peeling the wet clothes off, terrified that skin was going to come off with them. As a semblance of awareness returned, I realized that Tamara's skin was fine - not burned at all, thank God! - and that Tamara herself had stopped crying long ago and was now having the time of her life watching Mommy lose it. Could it have been a LOT worse? Absolutely. Was I consumed by overwhelming bad-parent guilt. Oh yeah. Still am.

But the situation that came to mind when I read RT's post came much later, and is reminiscent because of the "frosty" reaction of MSU.

Isabeau was -and is - a physically gifted child. She was crawling at four months and walking at seven... we didn't get a lot of "baby" time with her. I was getting ready for work one morning in our bedroom, which at the time was a very large room. I stood at the long mirror in front of the counter than ran the length of the back wall, the little room with the toilet and shower on my left and the large walk-in closet on the right. Isabeau was sitting on the floor behind me, playing with a toy and babbling happily. About five feet to Isabeau's left was our good Akita Freya, who had positioned her entire body in front of the door as was her habit. Just outside the bedroom door and immediately left was the wide staircase of 16 stairs that led to the inside end of the marble-tiled entryway. I was finished with my hair and face and was ready to get dressed, so I checked Isabeau's location (still in the middle of the room), checked Freya's location (still completely occupying the doorway), and darted into the walk-in closet to grab the day's outfit, which was already staged and ready to go. The entire trip into the closet and out of the closet took approximately three seconds.

When I exited the closet, Mom-Vision saw two things at once: the baby was no longer in the room and neither was the dog. Already knowing what I was going to find, I sprinted out the door just in time to see Isabeau, on her hands and knees, reach her hand out for the first stair down, Freya standing at her side. And in the horrific slow-motion vision that only parents have, I dove to try to snatch her clothing only to watch her tumble, end over end, to the cold marble below. In excruciating detail, I saw each body part as it hit each stair: arm twisted on that one, face down on that one, legs bent at an unnatural angle on that one. And though I was right behind her the entire way, screaming (also in slow motion) "Nooooooooooooooo," I couldn't catch her or even get my body in front of her in time to avoid what I knew was coming next: the fatal wet smacking sound of her soft baby head splitting on the marble tile.

It was 10 years ago, but I'm crying now, again, with the memory. There is NOTHING worse than watching an event that you KNOW will kill your baby. Except watching an event that you know will kill your baby that's YOUR fault for being so fucking negligent.

But even-then physically gifted Isabeau didn't smack her head on the tile. And she didn't break any bones on the way down. And when she came to rest, she looked fearsome confused for about 10 seconds before she started crying tears of experience, not of pain. And stopped crying immediately upon Freya joyously licking her face as if to say, "Great stunt, girlfriend!! High Five!!"

Still hysterical, I called MSU (more out of sheer adrenaline and terror than anything else), and related what had happened. And he shouted at me. He told me I was an unfit mother. He asked me how I could possibly be so stupid as to leave her unattended even for a second. He said he was coming home to take her to the hospital, since I was obviously not going to provide the proper care (MSU and I are both EMTs, BTW - I have the exact same training and expertise that he does). And things were mighty "frosty" around my house for a little while. Until, as previously mentioned, karma stepped in.

Two days later, Isabeau fell down the stairs AGAIN - on Daddy's watch. And he reacted the exact same way that I did. The only difference was that this time, Isabeau didn't even cry. She just laughed and laughed as MSU, crying in a previously unheard voice and shaking like a leaf, picked her up off the tile and cradled her little body to his. He brought her back up the stairs and they both crawled back into bed with me... and he and I looked at each other and said at precisely the same time, "We can never take our eyes off her again. Not until she's 18."

Oh yes, there are more. LOTS more. But those two incidents are the ones that stick in my head, the ones that taught me the most about how much of a responsibility it is to be a parent. Tired, sick, pissed off, in pain, half dead... doesn't matter. There is no time - not three seconds, not four steps - once those babies are born that parenthood stops, no moment where one can wholly abdicate the obligation in order to get a little sleep, have some satisfying and unhurried sex, or take a shower. And there is no way to predict what's going to happen next!! Hot tea... willful dog who succumbed to the charms of cute, hell-bent-on-escaping baby and left her post... casualties of fingers in noses... it's a thrill ride, to be sure.