I’ve literally woken up in a cold sweat after having dreams about falling down stairs with one of my children in my arms.
It kind of happened today. I mean, I fell up the stairs, but in my defense, they looked like this:
Okay, not exactly like that, but the risers were all different heights. Do you know how hard it is to carry a cranky two year old up stairs with crazy sized risers?
The answer is: hard enough that I tripped and kind of dropped Bear. Only part of his back hit, and he never cried, so I’m thinking he’s okay. Then I saw the bruise on my shin and right now I want nothing more than to go wake him up to check on him.
Instead, I’ll let him sleep and check on him in the morning. Because with the nap wars and the battles it takes to get him to bed some nights? There is no way I’m waking him.
That would be stupider than my ability to fall up stairs.