No more monkeys jumping on the bed!

Uriah left yesterday afternoon after successfully procuring a rental car while his is being fixed, ironing a million dress shirts (it will be different to see him go to work in a shirt and tie as opposed to jeans and a chef coat!) and taking me out to lunch.  I'm not going to say it was easy, but I kept reminding myself throughout the afternoon that it is 1 month, not 1 year and he'll have a break in 9 days.  It is job training, not a deployment (although, I have a much greater respect for all of the brave military families that do this for multiple months!).

I got home (I was the last mom to pick up her kid at the daycare thanks to traffic) and Abby had straightened the living room, per her afternoon chore list.  I had a dinner in mind that was quick and easy and plans for early showers/bath so that we could call Uriah and chat about our day, something we would normally do around the kitchen table.  Finn ate a dinner of bananas - real ones, not from a jar! - and some chicken and vegetables.  Abby chatted non-stop about her day and helped clean up the kitchen, then headed off to take a quick shower before our evening phone call.  I was feeling a little anxious with the weight of the week ahead of me and was trying to straighten up our bedroom of a few of Uriah's packing remnants, namely, hanging up some extra hangers in the closet.  I put Finn on the bed and thought to myself, I sure hope he doesn't fall off the bed because I'm not really sure how our insurance is going to work right now (I have temporary insurance for the kids until the new plan kicks in, but I don't have a card or an id number or anything like that).

In that short period of time, that two seconds that I turned my back and stepped away from the side of the bed, he slipped over the edge like an otter into the river.  I heard his head hit the wood floor and then all I heard was my heart beating in my ears.

I scooped him up faster than I have ever moved in my life.  And as he cried that gasping sob that only comes from being scared and in pain at the same time, I looked him over to make sure he wasn't bleeding, that there were no broken bones, that he could move his arms and his legs and turn his head, all while trying to get Uriah on the phone, because damnit, I needed someone to think clearly and tell me what to do.  I am not the strong one; I am not good under pressure (hell, I can't even stand to look at loose teeth!).  By the time I got him on the phone, Finn had calmed down a little but a huge goose egg was forming on his forehead; his head was resting on my shoulder and his body was shaking with sad little hick-ups.

I called the nurse help-line at the children's hospital.  She walked me through all of the things to look for (bleeding, clear liquid from his ears, different sized pupils - none of which he had.) and assured me that it was better to hit the front of his head than the back.  She told me to keep him awake for as long as I could and then wake him up fully every 2 hours throughout the night.  She told me to bring him in immediately if I couldn't get him to wake up or if my mother's intuition was screaming at me (apparently my mother's intuition was screaming at me earlier to not put Finn on the bed; perhaps I should try listening).  And after that sweet nurse assured me for 10 minutes that Finn was going to be okay, I stopped being the strong one, and I cried into his soft, bruised head.

It was a long night.  Remember when I said I was going to have to try to not put Finn in bed with me while Uriah's gone?  Well, baby boy drooled all over Uriah's side of the bed last night.  I woke him up when I had to and watched him breath when he was sleeping.  Sometime around 4 this morning he scooted his little warm body up next to me and we both fell asleep.

I know that I am not a bad mother and that accidents happen.  I know that this kid is going to fall and get scratches and bruises and he might even break a bone.  I know that he will be sick and sometimes there won't be anything that I can do for him other than hold him.  I know all of that.  I also know that I will take all of his pain as my own.  I will run through fire for him and swim an ocean filled with sharks.  I will smother him with snuggles and kisses so that when the world turns dark and mean and painful, as it surely will at some point, he will know, always, that he is loved.  And that I will always take care of him.  Always.

{Thursday night | 3.31.11}

{Friday morning | 4.01.11