joining the mom-an race

As in, I’m a mom. I’m human. And I make mistakes. Today, I made a big’un. And before I go any further into this story let me say: The boy is FINE.

Does turning your back on your baby long enough for him to flip over off the changing table pad and onto the floor, 2-plus feet below count as a milestone?

We have our pad attached to the vanity in the bathroom. We often strap the boy in on the pad in order to get a shower — keeping the curtain open and chatting with him meanwhile.

Today, for whatever reason, I didn’t strap him in. Making matters more dicey, I’d been up late last night, and he woke up around 4:45, which means we all did.

I turned away from him for a minute, didn’t realize I was lost in thought under the spray until I heard the thud.

Thud.

Turned around, baby face down on floor. Jump out of shower, scoop him up. That’s when he starts to cry.

He cries for a little while, calms down. I examine him. Not a scratch, bruise, or bump on him.

I, however, am in shock.

I call my husband, report in. We sort of laugh about how Jonah falls over six inches and ends up in the emergency room while under his (lack of) attention, and when I’m absent during Jonah’s first flying effort, he’s fine.

Soon after that, the phone rings. A friend with two older kids. I fill her in. She reminds me that she knew someone whose kid fell off the changing table, and now that girl is going to college. She asks me if I have an exersaucer I can put in the bathroom.

Yes. Yes.

I’m still not consoled. I want to call my friend who once told me her toddler son had fallen down the stairs, but she’s at work. I call another mom friend also whose kids are older. She tells me stories about her mother-in-law playing airplane with her then 2-year-old and accidentally flinging him across the room.  Story of her own mother bending down with her in the backpack carrier, before they had safety straps, and dropping my friend on her head.

I feel a little better.

She asks me if I have an exersaucer. Yes. Yes. Yes.

I’m still tired, all day. Watchful. The boy shows no signs of distress or trauma. We play with toys, scooch around the living room floor, read books, take naps, visit our various exersaucer/jumper stations. We don’t leave the house all day.

Around 3-ish, I decide I probably should call the pediatrician, to report that it happened, and to make sure I’m clear on the signs to watch out for in case he has a concussion.

I’m embarrassed when I describe to the nurse what happened. She is kind as she takes the message, consoling.

The doctor (not my regular ped, but another woman in the office, no-nonsense, nice) calls me back around 5. I describe the event, and how he seems fine, but I’m still in shock.

She says, “Yeah, the first time that happens, it’s really scary.”

The first time. Ah. Welcome to motherhood.

She agrees that he sounds fine, tells me to watch out for any grogginess and/or vomiting, and says that if I’m at all worried, I can wake him every three hours during the night, to check and make sure he’s responsive.

Finally, I call my mom. Because I know I want to blog about it, and I know I’d better talk to her first, rather than having her read this and worry.

She tells me, “Oh yeah. That happened to one of you. You or your sister. I can’t remember which.”