The vast majority of our days are happy ones.
Sure, there's a scuffle here or there over important things like whether it's appropriate to use the entire roll of toilet paper to wipe our bottom, or a bout of screaming when she can't get her arms through her shirt all on her own. Of course, Logan likes to add his voice to the mix when Mom has to, you know, not carry him around all the time.
But overwhelmingly, the three of us get on super.
Today, though, was one of those days. To the max.
For starters, I realized one of my parenting nightmares. Logan took a little dive over the edge of the shopping cart and landed on his head. Ugh. Poor little sweet guy. The worst part is that it was completely my fault, because I'm that mom who didn't use the seatbelt on the shopping cart, inviting said disaster.
You know those moments when you see another parent do something really, obviously stupid and you think to yourself, well this isn't going to end well? Well, today I discovered what it feels like to be on the other end of that equation. It's not much fun.
I need my petrified new mom goggles back. The ones that make me worry about everything that lives, breathes, moves or stands still. The ones that help me avert disasters before they start. The trouble with this whole thing the second time around is that I no longer see every single posibility. I see them instead through the filter of what I know I need to worry about with Leah. I still think like Leah's mommy.
And peeps (at the risk of comparing my children): Logan ain't no Leah. I've been awfully spoiled with that one, because she hasn't given me much to worry about at all.
Both of my children possess the amazing superpower of knowing intrinsically what danger exists in a room. It's just that Leah would size it up and avoid it, where Logan isn't happy unless he's doing something potentially risky. He's the kid who pulls electrical cords out of outlets for fun, and sucks on the pulley string on the blinds. If it could possibly cause him severe harm, you'd better believe that's what he's going to want to play with.
So I've always known he's in for a few more bumps and bruises than sister ever had (which, let's face it, was pretty much none). Knowing that didn't make this experience any easier.
One trip to the pediatrician and a lot of guilty tears later, and everything is fine. Thank the Lord.
My big girl, though, either decided she needed to be part of the action or was actually traumatized by brother's accident. Let's just say that she was sent to bed at 6:30 with no bath, story, prayer or song. Which doesn't happen often. Or, well, really at all.
When I went in to say goodnight, she broke down in sobs. The kind of sobs that make you feel terrible as a parent, because they were accompanied by, "I'm so sorry mommy. I really want to change that behavior." (Cue the mommy guilt again.)
As I kissed her goodnight, I whispered, "I love so many things about you, sweet girl. I think you're the neatest little girl I know. You are kind and generous, and I know that your great big heart always wants to do the right thing. I think you made some poor choices tonight, but you know what? Tomorrow is a new day, and a new chance to make good choices. And whether you make good choices or poor choices, I will always love you very much."
She smiled a teary smile and gave me a hug.
I'm so darn proud of those babes of mine.
I hate the days when I can't wait to just be done and send them to bed. As this day came to a close, Mommy needed a break. A nap. A moment to breathe. A stiff cocktail.
Tomorrow, we'll try again. Hopefully, less the drama.