In the past week, a lot of things have happened with my son. Now that he’s 7 months old (almost 8), he’s becoming much more mobile and inquisitive, which I’ve come to realize is a lethal combination. Just a few days ago, he was throwing a tantrum while I was changing his diaper. I turned to grab something for .00000001 seconds and there it was, BOOM! He did a double roll off of the bed onto the hardwood floor, face first. My body went completely numb and I frantically jumped off the bed to grab him and there came the most horrific cry (ya know, the one where they’re crying so hard that there’s no sound coming out for a few seconds?). I was holding onto him so tight and my sister came running. My sister, Heather, has a two year old so she’s “been there.” As I was almost hyper-ventilating, she took him to soothe him. I cried with him and finally the crying stopped. He was okay. I, however, was not okay! I will never forget this day and HE will no longer be on a bed unless he’s strapped to me. Kidding? Maybe.
The next “milestone” happened today and felt just as traumatic. For me. Not him. Today was the day I finally decided to take him to the gym daycare. We just joined a new fitness center, which is more like a country club if you ask me. It’s fabulous! With that, we acquired a much better staff environment which helped us ease into our transition and feel right at home. There have been many days where I have conversations with myself about taking him to the daycare. These conversations go something like this:
“I’m going to take him today! Yes, today’s the day! He’s ready. I’m ready. No I’m not. What if he hates it? What if he cries? What if he poops so bad it smears all over? What if he gets sick? What if he hurts himself? What if one of the kids hurt him? Jessica you’re nuts! Just do it! Maybe tomorrow.”
Yeah, I’d say that’s enough to drive anyone insane. I never thought I’d be this way. “That” mother that I always believed I wouldn’t be. Ya know, over protective and neurotic all at the same time. Well, I am. This is me. I love my son. A lot! Back to the story. Today was the day I took him to the daycare. I was confident that everything was going to be fine. That is, until I got to the room. I talked to the girls, gave them all the info, asked countless questions, and finally kissed my boy goodbye. After working out for 20 minutes, I went to check on him and they were just exchanging him in their arms. They saw me and said he’s fine, go! So, I went. After an hour, I came back and he was playing! Not crying! Not injured! Happy!
In both of these instances, I never thought I’d be THAT mom in so many ways. But I’m a mom. I love my son, and this is just the way it’s going to be; hopefully with less falls.