It's guest post-y time again!!
And thanks so much for having me, Ravishing Lucy. It's a lovely blog you have here!
Anyway, as we know, Lucy has posed the topic for this blogging trio- Your Biggest, Bestest Mothering Stuff Ups.
And I must confess that this one actually wasn't difficult. The first thought that came to mind was- Which one do I pick?
Accidentally smacking the Chop in the head with a toy hammer at mother's group, maybe? Or the time when I was distracted by matching up pegs by colour to hang out the clothes with*, and then heard him gag and discovered he was eating dog poo? Or do I just repost the post I did about sending him to playgroup, dressed as pirate, when it was not pirate day?
You may notice, at this point, that all of these stuff ups involve my son. I do have a daughter as well, commonly referred to as the Bump. She's only eight months old, and so far can only crawl backwards. So there aren't a whole lot of stuff ups involving her. Plenty of time for that.
I think the monumental f*ck up I will reveal to you today should be the very first f*ck up in my parental existence.
The day we dropped our newborn in the bathroom sink.
I'm not even joking.
Both my kids were born with extremely strong necks, and they rolled early. At about two weeks old, they could both lift their heads and arch their backs. And wow, were they strong.
That's my justification for how this whole thing happened, anyway.
The Man and I, as brand new parents, took every care at bath time with our brand new baby. Those first few weeks at home, we did as we had been shown in the hospital- we put a towel down on the vanity in our bathroom, and undressed the Chop on the towel before gently lifting him into the bath.
Now, before anyone gets their knickers in a twist, the vanity in our bathroom is huge, and more than wide enough to accommodate my tiny six pound baby. So no hate mail, OK? OK.
The Man, using perfect nappy changing technique, lifted the Chop by his ankles with one hand, and reached for the baby wipes with the other.
And that is where things went terribly wrong.
Our Chop, being a bit of cranky head (as newborns generally are when they're all nude-y rude-y) arched his back with all his strength.Between the back arch and the Man's wipe-grabbing-sideways-motion, the Chop managed to flip up and over...
....and landed head first in the bathroom sink.
Panic ensues. Nude, screaming baby, with a rising welt on his head. Me, the already fragile mother, on the verge of a dead faint. The Man, never the cucumber in a crisis, gettin' all panicked too.
We get ourselves together, just enough to strap the baby in the car and go careening to the local emergency room. Lori, barefoot and crying, carrying a swaddled baby with a purple bruise on his forehead... who has fallen sound asleep during the drive.
Long story, short? The Chop was fine. The doctor kept us for two hours to observe him. And quite possibly to make sure I didn't require admission to the local psychiatric facility, having suffered a nervous breakdown at my child's first injury.
Isn't it funny, how much we panic as first time parents? At about two months old, the Chop, in a fit of mad toddler jealousy, threw a tin spinning top at the Bump's head, missing her fontanel by sheer centimeters.
Not rip to the ER for her- just a quick cuddle and a kiss, a consult with the Man and a "She'll be right."
But, as I said, there's plenty of time for that.
* No, I don't really do that. In fact, I think colour coordinating your pegs with your clothes is kind of...well.. odd. I know there are plenty of you who do do it, but I just don't dig it. Again, no hate mail, OK? OK.