Baby's Got a Brand New Game
3:50 p.m. - 2006-06-24
A couple weeks ago, I was at the computer helping a friend print up some flyers to advertise the sale going on where he worka. Ali was asleep in the middle of our king-size bed, surrounded by pillows to keep her from rolling off.
And then....BonkBAM. Followed immediately by "AAAIIIEEE! AAAHH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
My friend and I sat there for about half a second, just staring at each other. I think we were in shock.
Then the freak out ensued. I jumped up and I swear, I don't even think my feet ever touched the floor as I flew through the house, all the while screaming, "Oh my God! My baby! She FELL! OFF! THE! BED! OHMYGOD!"
Indeed, she had fallen off the bed. Head first. She was lying next to the nightstand when I got to her.
"OH NO! Baby, are you all right? Of course you're NOT ALL RIGHT! I'm sorry. SO SORRY! OHMYGOD THIS IS ALL MY FAULT! My baybeeeee!"
Have I mentioned before that I am totally worthless in a crisis situation? Of course, all my squealing didn't do anything but freak her out even more.
I scooped her up immediately, and did exactly what one should do at a time like that. I jerked my shirt up and tried to stick a boob in her mouth.
Yeah, you read that right. My eight month old had just fallen off the bed onto a HARDWOOD FLOOR, and instead of checking for injuries or trying to calm her down with a soothing voice, for some reason I tried to nurse her.
BILLY: "What are you DOING? Put your shirt down! Put the boob away!"
ME: "I'm trying to COMFORT HER! She's HURT!"
BILLY: "Yeah, well, it's obviously not working, because she's still SCREAMING. Give her here."
I handed her to him, and shoved everything back inside my shirt.
"Is she okay? I CAN'T BELIEVE I LET HER FALL OFF THE BED! I'm the worst mother in the WORLD! Should we take her to the hospital?"
Billy, while holding and shushing Ali, "Calm DOWN. You're just scaring her worse by freaking out. She's fine."
And she was. She had a little red spot on her forehead, but by that time she was giggling and pulling on Billy's nose. I took her back from him, hugging her tight to my chest, kissing her face, telling her how very sorry I was and that it would never happen again.
By this time, Billy was doubled over laughing.
"What the hell is so funny?"
"I...I just...WHY did you pull out your boob?"
"Because...well, because normally that's the only thing that comforts her when she's hurt."
"Boy, I'm sure glad that I was here, because you were FREAKING OUT."
"I'm glad you were here too. I don't handle crisises well."
"No shit. Just promise me that if I ever get hurt you won't try to stick a boob in my face."
"Oh, SHUT UP."
"And you know that I'm going to tell this story to all our friends."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that."
And thus began the crawling phase of my daughter's life. The kid is EVERYWHERE, and there is no containing her. She's also pulling up on everything she can get her hands on, so the majority of our day goes like this:
"Ali! No! You're going to fall!"
Then, five seconds later, she's crawled across the room and is up on something else.
"You're going to bust your butt."
*cue Mama removing baby from whatever she's pulled up on, setting her down as far from pulling-up objects as she can get*
Turn around for five seconds, and she's over at something else: the t.v., the bookcase, my legs, the filing cabinet, a chair, the coffee table, WHATEVER.
Lather, rinse, repeat five katrillion times, and you have a vague idea of what my days are like.
No wonder I haven't updated in over two weeks, eh?