My friends with babies always told me, “No matter how careful you are, one day, you will drop the baby.” And I would always nod but think to myself, “NOT ME NOT ME NOT MEEEE!”
Well, substitute “drop the baby” for “let him fall off the bed,” and then, yes. Yes, it’s true. Life is cruel.
This morning, in the split second it took for me to remove my eyes from my cute baby to the mirror so I could wonder if the belt I was wearing was right for my outfit, over he rolled and down he went. BAM.
What followed was the most awful two minutes I have endured in recent memory. Oh the guilt! Oh, the horrible, wretched guilt!
Huck stopped crying almost as soon as I scooped him up, and once I had thoroughly inspected him for scrapes and fractures (all clear!) he flashed me the gummiest, goofiest, most relieved little teary-eyed smile (crooked from his emerging fat lip). Immediately I decided I could never forgive myself.
Later this afternoon, my guilt spilled out all over the steps of the American Museum of Natural History as I told the girls in my mom’s group what had happened. One of my friends offered a supportive hug (“We have so all been there”), while my girlfriend Elise just shrugged her shoulders and said dryly, “I lost my kids in the elevator today. I ran back into the apartment to get something I forgot, and when I came back into the hall, poof, they were gone. Some nice lady found them wandering around on the 24th floor.”
So. Let’s do this thing: In honor of upcoming Mother’s Day, of course, let’s have some catharsis. You tell us your Worst Mom Moment, and then we’ll all nod to ourselves and think, “Oh, you think that’s bad . . .”