If you’ve been wondering what would happen if you fell down a flight of stairs while holding your baby, I have the answer for you.
You would pull the baby to the center of your body, taking the hit in your lower back and clattering into the kitchen on your tailbone. The baby will be resting in your lap, rattled but physically unharmed, when you begin the work of unfolding the heap you have made of yourself on the kitchen floor. If you know what’s good for you, you will make your way directly to the Advil bottle.
I know this because as you’ve probably guessed, this is how I started the day. Promising, no? It turns out that falling down the stairs doesn’t have to be the death knell for any possibility of a decent day. After making it past the initial shock (OMG Yogi could have hit his head!!!/Do I have a broken rib?/How am I going to make it through the day when it hurts.so.much?!!) and having my Dr wife guide me through a “move this, wiggle that” phone session that ended in her assessment that I would make it after all, a funny thing happened. While Yogi played happily on the floor with his books and his taxi, I sat in his rocking chair (we had made it back up the stairs without event) and cried. The kind of crying that is loud and ugly and makes it very hard to breathe. Based on when he went down for nap, I would say that this lasted a good, long time.
By the time that Yogi crawled over with the book he wanted to read before nap time, it was over. Something had passed and it was time to read a few stories and put the baby down for nap. It still aches when I breathe deeply, stand up, sit down, or bend over, but I feel better somehow. I’ve been foggy for the last last few weeks and it seems that falling down the stairs has been just the thing to burn it off. I feel like I have a voice again and if I’ve also got an achy back, swollen eyes and a few bruises, I’d have to say it was worth it.