Forgive me

This morning, I committed one of the cardinal sins of parenting, and it's only by the grace of God I'm here writing about it rather than sitting in an emergency room engulfed in guilt and tears.

In Becca's room, we have an antique brass bed. It's my childhood bed, our only place for visiting guests, and a functioning changing station for diapers and baby clothes--saving both the expense and space a proper changing station would have cost. As with most antique beds, it's a good three feet or so off the ground, and as Becca has become more mobile, it's become a bit more of a challenge. And a danger.

Since she's rolling now and can go from a sitting position through her legs onto her stomach, I never stray more than a foot or two from the bed while she's on it. But this morning, even that was too much. I'd moved Becca to the center of the bed, putting her a good two feet from the edge. I took two steps to retrieve a pair of socks, keeping an eye on her tired, sitting form. Suddenly, she sprung forward with such force that she was on the edge. She'd never before covered so much ground so quickly. And just like that, she rolled headfirst off the bed.

What happened next felt like it played out slowly, like trying to move against a strong tide. I took the two steps to the bed, catching Becca mid-air, cradling her around her middle with my arms, and before the momentum brought her face-first into the hardwood floors, flipping her so that in a split second she was standing on the floor supported by my arms. It was the most graceful acrobatic maneuver I've ever accomplished. And I firmly believe it wasn't really my doing. I lack the grace and talent to pull off such a move--Someone was looking out for me.

Becca looked at me and gave a small whimper, as if to say, "What the fuck?!" I stood there stunned, holding her until my entire body began to shake with the implications of just what could have happened. At best, Becca would have been bloodied, screaming, and we would have had to rush to the emergency room. At worst? Well, I can't even begin to think about that.

Every experienced mother knowingly warns you. And every new mother tries to be so careful, remembering the warnings, dreading what could happen. But in a split second what once worked no longer does. I should have known better. But the lull of routine made me careless. Guilt and fear sit like a rock in my stomach as I try to figure out a new routine that will keep this from every happening again.

I'm so sorry, baby girl.