E fell off the bed on Saturday. We’d gone through half an hour of not wanting to be held, lie on a blanket or go down in the cot, when laying him on the bed finally led to calm. As I left the room he was on his back happily trying to eat a toy.
In these rare moments where I don’t have to haul around a 14 pound five month old, I try to fit in the various jobs which have woefully fallen by the wayside since E’s arrival. In this case though it was to go to the loo and get a glass of water. I was out of the room for maybe two minutes.
Sufficient time for E to shimmy away from the safety of the middle of our king sized bed and off the side. The bang and cry sent a shiver up my spine.
Thankfully he was ok, a bit shocked, but other than that, recovered quite quickly. I had a teary conversation with someone at NHS 111 before spending the rest of the weekend checking for signs of swelling, bruising and irregular breathing.
Convinced that he could not have escaped unscathed, it felt like I held my breath for the 48 hours following the ‘incident’ as I monitored E for signs of injury.
It sounds daft and I don’t know if this is the best way to explain it,but something has changed in me and the way I view my relationship with my son. Caught up in making sure he eats, sleeps, has enough mental stimulation, opportunities to move around and tummy time, I didn’t stop to think about how his every bone and breath are more important to me than my own.
E’s not the first baby who has had a fall and this won’t be the last time he gets hurt. It’s something I will have to deal with. But for now I’m going to wrap him up in cotton wool and never let him leave his cot again, if that’s ok with you.