Some days I think I was really not cut out for this. Today is my first full day on my own with C and little K (M and Mister Coffee are skiing, but that’s another tale).
This morning, with K in the Baby Bjorn and C in the high chair, I emptied and refilled the dishwasher, then cleaned up the evidence of Mr. Coffee making last night’s dinner. I was feeling pretty smug.
I continued feeding K “on demand” – which currently means every hour on the the hour (he’s a big boy with a big appetite). I was abusing Yo Gabba Gabba, but if you can’t turn to DJ Lance Rock when you are overwhelmed, who can you turn to?
So I was stressed but things were going well until lunch time. I put K in the Baby Bjorn again, took down the baby gate, and told C it was time to eat. C decided to take a detour on the way to his high chair. When I took his hand to lead him, he threw himself down. Now, I am not fully healed from the C-Section, and I am not supposed to pick him up, but at times it can’t be helped. And this was one of those times.
Without thinking about the Baby Bjorn, I bent to pick C up. He continued to have his tantrum and I went over – C on the bottom, baby in the middle, me on top!
Dear God! As it turned out, all were OK – K did not cry at all, C cried for a few minutes, and I checked out everyone’s head, belly, and chest ~ then hyperventilated for awhile before I left a message for the on-call doctor.
He called me back, calmed me down, told me what to look for in case of injury, and comfirmed that the kids were probably fine. Okay. Okay. Okay.
Because C had been standing by me saying “Hewwo? Hewwo?” while I was on the phone, I handed it over to him after I hung up, thinking I could calm down while he played with it.
A few minutes later, I saw we had an incoming call from the police. “Ma’am” the officer said, “We just received a 911 call from this residence.”