You rolled off the couch and onto the hard wood floor. You, who could not roll on your own. I picked you up in a flash and held you tight to my chest and cried huge tears, heaving breaths in between yours. It was your first fall. So unexpected. I cried because I wasn’t there to catch you. And I cried because I didn’t know if it would happen again. And it didn’t.
The first time you fell I scooped you up in my arms and bit my lip til it nearly bled trying not to cry. You buried your head in my chest, screaming a painful cry I had not yet heard from you. I looked down to check you were ok and when I saw the blood I couldn’t take it. I handed you to your papa-daddy and ran out of the room, crying and grabbing a cold wet wash cloth for your lip. Your tooth – your first tooth – had cut your lip. The skin was hanging down. My heart was breaking. You had just been sitting so happily on the kitchen floor and you leaned forward and lost your balance. I knew this was the first of many so I shed as many tears as I could to be stronger next time. And I was.
Linked up with Five Minute Friday.