This Kid Needs a Helmet

It finally happened. My Evel Knievel child made a bid for freedom by leaping off the couch. Okay, so it was more of a slide and flop than a leap, but in any case, he ended up on the floor and we both ended up in tears. Ever since he started rolling over, my husband and I knew it was only a matter of time until he plummeted some feet from a surface of our choosing. But I don’t think either of us expected it to happen so immediately.

Now, I claim 100% responsibility for this accident, except for the 10% that was Suttie’s fault for thinking that he could fly and the 5% that can be blamed on Pottery Barn for making their furniture so damn solid. Otherwise, it’s all on me. Suttie had just finished draining a 7 oz. bottle in 4 minutes flat – a new record that I have yet to inform Guinness about. He was lying on his Boppy pillow on the couch in a position that has been the norm since his birth. As he sat there, lazily examining his burp cloth, I took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and wash out his empty bottle. Big mistake (I knew that cleaning would get me into trouble eventually and have since given it up entirely). The next thing I hear is a soft thud followed by a piercing wail.

You can imagine the scene. Suttie crying loudly and in such a tone that can only mean one thing – he’s hurt or scared (okay, two things) and extremely unhappy. I’ve only heard that cry once before when he was in the middle of what was undoubtedly a horrific nightmare about empty or unreachable bottles. I scooped him up and held him close, while also trying to examine him for broken bones or signs of bruising. Through my own tears, I saw a red spot on the back of his head on the right side and decided to call the definitive source – my mother. Now, being the intelligent, educated woman that she is, she calmly reminded me that the pediatrician would actually be the best person to talk to about a possible injury. See, I knew it was a good idea to call her…there’s always a light on up here (**tapping my head now).

At last came the part that I subconsciously had been dreading since I heard that tell-tale thud – calling the pediatrician and admitting that I let me 5 month old fall off of an elevated surface. After the advice nurse answered and asked what was wrong, I quickly mumbled the words, running them together as if ripping off a bandaid, “mysonfelloffthecouch.” No luck. She asked me to repeat the offense, necessitating a clearly delivered, well-pronounced, “My son fell off the couch, and I think he hit his head on the coffee table.” I cringed, waiting for the lecture on attentive parenting that I so obviously deserved. But thankfully, it did not come (which begs the question, how many of us lame-ass parents let our kids fall off of stuff that the nurse doesn’t even waste her breath to read me the riot act?). Instead, she went over some signs to watch for in the event that I’d caused any real damage and told me to wake him up a couple of times in the night just to check on his alertness. Fortunately, he is just fine and is young enough that he won’t remember this, which means that I will still have a shot at convincing him that I really was a flawless mother.

But in the present moment, my parenting score is down for the week. On the one hand, I scheduled my son’s first birthday party 7 months in advance – a mommy feat that borders on insanity (which is where I live…comfortably on the border. It’s like the Gaza strip but with smiley face to-do lists and an array of costume catalogs). However, I’m pretty sure that allowing your baby to fall squarely on his head would put you in the hole, so we’ll just have to call it a wash and try to do better next week.