Its important to note that this entry is my equivalent to going to the therapist office, and for those of you that can't relate - church, to confess what has been plaguing me all day. This morning FIN took a slo-mo nose dive off the bed. I play it over and over in my head, as I turn around from having my back to him for a minute, watching this chubby hand reach forward for the ground that just wasn't there, land on his head and flip on his back. To say "I lost it" doesn't give the moment justice. Francisco, in heroic form, calmly said as I hold onto the wimpering baby, and me screaming a scream that stemmed from my toes, to give him the baby. Long story short, FIN is ok. I'm pretty sure the daycare lady has turned her phone off because I have called every hour on the hour, wanting to know if, I don't know, FIN is spewing pea soup from his ears.
Work has been reassuring. Other people have come out of the wood work with confessions of their parental mishaps of momentary backs to babies. My favorite, however, was my dad recounting the many times my sister took diggers off the kitchen table, went down the stairs in her baby-walker, almost bit her tongue off... I'm thinking that he must still feel a little bad, but don't worry dad, you've been vindicated. Sara is doing fine, that bitch is on a cruise as I type. ;-)
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