Adrenaline rush
I am so in over my head with this parenting thing. I have met my match, and she stands a whole two and a half feet tall and weighs as much as my left thigh. She has shortened my life expectancy by ten years in just one day. If this is any indication of what's to come in her teenage years, shoot me now.
This morning, as I was getting my son out the door for his carpool and making the ballerina her breakfast, I heard a loud thud followed by a sickening screech. My stomach sunk as I ran into my bedroom to find my baby pinned under my bedside table and a heavy lamp. I scooped her up, hugged her tightly to me, as much to bring her comfort as to slow down my heart.
Half an hour later, she rushed out the back gate of the apartment and behind a car backing out of our garage. I screamed STOP! STOP! STOP!, dropped my armfuls of bags, shoes, and mittens and ran to grab her. The car stopped and my landlord's wife rolled down the window looking stricken. "I didn't see her!" I collected my things, my girls and myself, and headed to the car, my heart pounding in my ears. I dropped the stuff again, but held on tightly to the baby, and tried to open the door, but it was frozen shut and I couldn't get it to budge. I gingerly put the baby down, and began pounding on the door and sobbing uncontrollably.
It only took me a few moments to pull myself together enough to pile the girls into their car seats from the front seat, but that feeling didn't shake for hours.
At the grocery store, the baby tried three times to wriggle out of the seat belt on the shopping cart and jump off. I shopped with one hand while holding her down with the other.
Later that afternoon, I found her on her big brother's six foot loft bed, jumping.
I'm not a jittery person. My older kids have always been generally well-behaved. They aren't dare devils, and I have had the luxury of being pretty relaxed about their playtime. They are never happier than when they're building an imaginary world of Lego's, blocks, and dolls, breathing the life of their imagination into their creations.
My baby is never satisfied until I've had a heart attack.
Is it childish to think I want to go home at these times? San Antonio is in the grips of an ice storm, the city is shut down, but in my rosy-tinted memories, there is no place warmer or safer.
This morning, as I was getting my son out the door for his carpool and making the ballerina her breakfast, I heard a loud thud followed by a sickening screech. My stomach sunk as I ran into my bedroom to find my baby pinned under my bedside table and a heavy lamp. I scooped her up, hugged her tightly to me, as much to bring her comfort as to slow down my heart.
Half an hour later, she rushed out the back gate of the apartment and behind a car backing out of our garage. I screamed STOP! STOP! STOP!, dropped my armfuls of bags, shoes, and mittens and ran to grab her. The car stopped and my landlord's wife rolled down the window looking stricken. "I didn't see her!" I collected my things, my girls and myself, and headed to the car, my heart pounding in my ears. I dropped the stuff again, but held on tightly to the baby, and tried to open the door, but it was frozen shut and I couldn't get it to budge. I gingerly put the baby down, and began pounding on the door and sobbing uncontrollably.
It only took me a few moments to pull myself together enough to pile the girls into their car seats from the front seat, but that feeling didn't shake for hours.
At the grocery store, the baby tried three times to wriggle out of the seat belt on the shopping cart and jump off. I shopped with one hand while holding her down with the other.
Later that afternoon, I found her on her big brother's six foot loft bed, jumping.
I'm not a jittery person. My older kids have always been generally well-behaved. They aren't dare devils, and I have had the luxury of being pretty relaxed about their playtime. They are never happier than when they're building an imaginary world of Lego's, blocks, and dolls, breathing the life of their imagination into their creations.
My baby is never satisfied until I've had a heart attack.
Is it childish to think I want to go home at these times? San Antonio is in the grips of an ice storm, the city is shut down, but in my rosy-tinted memories, there is no place warmer or safer.
posted by law school widow at 8:25 PM
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