I was down in our bedroom this morning when I heard Lily say, "Mommy?" followed by a series of thumps and then screaming. I started yelling for Mark while trying to get myself to Lil as quickly as possible. I rounded the corner to see her laying head down on the stairs, pretty much at the bottom, completely still save for the crying.
Mark had leaped off the balcony of his little office and made it to her first, scooping her up and taking her in to our bed. She was scraped & bruised on her legs and we hurriedly pulled up her dress to check her ribs and back. Luckily it was just that: scrapes and bruises and nothing broken. Ice and Arnica did the trick and within 15 minutes she was enjoying coffee cake and eggs with us and chatting about how we're picking up her new (to her) bike today.
I'm not quite so recovered.
The image of her sprawled across the stairs is smacking me up-side-silly and making me catch my breath in the most painful way. My heart hurts at the thought of how badly she could have been damaged and yet, another part of me is gratefully doing the happy dance of joy that she's OK. I'm trying really hard to focus on the happy dancer part, but oh God. My baby. My little girl. I just can't keep her safe from everything. It's not possible. And I've kinda been hiding from that reality for a while.
How do we cope with that knowledge? How do we move through each day totally aware that we could lose them and yet, not going insane?
No really, I'm asking. This mama needs to calm the heck down.