We were in Lewiston last week, helping my mom recover from surgery. (I'm sure having your daughters invade your home with their four kids was super relaxing). As we hurried to get ready for church Sunday morning, I left Sam under the watchful eyes of his Ninang and Lala and ran downstairs to get some toys for Noah.
Halfway down the stairs, I heard Sam crying. Sam hardly ever cries. Earlier that week, he'd pulled a barstool over as he was trying to pull himself up. He fell onto the ground and the barstool landed on top of him. Not a peep. He doesn't cry when he gets shots either.
So, when I heard him cry, I immediately ran upstairs and found my recently-operated-on-no-lifting-over 10 lbs- mother, holding my 23 lb screaming baby. Sam had pulled himself up to standing while holding on to the coffee table and lost his balance, bumping his forehead on the coffee table on the way down.
I picked him up and nursed him while he alternately nursed and cried. A good sized purple egg was forming on his forehead. I felt like throwing up. Amy started calling him the one-eyed-one-horned-flying purple people-eater.
Fortunately, no harm was done and Sam went on his merry way, babbling through Mass and trying to vex his cousin, Noah, by stealing Noah's cars and toys.
Unfortunately, every mother at Mass who came by to say hi also noticed his bump and had to comment on it. As one grandma commented on his bump, tears filled my eyes. She said, "Don't worry, honey. I'm sure it hurt you more than it hurt him."
Maybe so. Nevertheless, I think I'm going to wrap him in bubble wrap and make him wear a helmet until he's 18.