(Yes! Still talking about it. Like anyone is surprised.)
(Overreaction: It's what's for dinner.)
I'm feeling much better today, thanks to your comments and generous doses of brackets, and also all the wine I drank last night. Which was probably a little much for a Monday. Or a Friday. Or for the average human liver.
I still can't stop reliving it: the metal clang, the mysterious thumps, the terrified wails, the feeling of my feet skidding on the Pergo as I dashed around the corner, the sickening sight of that open gate and then...oh god oh god...my little boy lying facedown at the bottom of the stairs.
I know, I know. "BOY" is the operative word there. He's going to fall down the stairs and off his bike and the roof and trees and roller coasters and God knows what else. But you know, indulge me here, since I'm not used to this injury shit yet. Or the sensation of my heart leaking out my ears. That's definitely a new one.
As I tried to comfort Noah and convince him that everything was okay (even though I had no idea myself and was desperately trying to squeeze various body parts and check his pupils and feel for his teeth while his nose leaked snotty blood all over my shoulder), I babbled on about getting his Boo Boo Bear, which is an ice pack. (Which is actually shaped like a dog.) (Don't ask. I'm a moron.) After hearing the word "boo boo," Noah obediently and miserably put his hands over his face for the most pathetic game of peekaboo in the history of the entire world. So it was okay. He was okay.
Jason walked in the door right as I was administering a sippy cup of juice and the ice pack, and this was my signal to completely melt down and cry as I told him what had just happened. Jason was, of course, infinitely NOT HELPFUL, since he refused to believe me that the gate was latched ("You must not have closed it right") and quizzed me on my medical training ("You know not to move him, right? If his neck was broken and you moved him you COULD HAVE KILLED HIM"), and that's when I left the room, because we were in the kitchen and THAT'S WHERE ALL THE KNIVES ARE.
Anyway, Jomama requested that I share the brand of the baby gate Noah opened, and this is one of those moments where I really wonder why I compulsively invite the Internet to witness my endless supply of idiocy, because OH MY GOD. This is so embarrassing.
At our old place, we had one whopping baby gate, blocking the stairs up to the loft. When we moved here, we realized we'd need at least three more to block off both flights of stairs in every direction. So when we noticed the previous owners had one at the top of the basement steps, we asked if they'd mind leaving it. You know, to save ourselves 50 bucks or so. It's nothing great and is, in fact, totally ghetto, since it's all jury-rigged with extra blocks of wood and nylon ties.
BLOCKS OF WOOD. AND NYLON TIES.
They used this gate to keep their dog out of the basement. And we, in our infinite laziness, thought this would be sufficient for our child. Our child who can, at 15 months old, operate our TV remotes, remove batteries from his toys and jump start our car.
Oh, and only the top part latches. Yeah.
We actually bought two retractable gates, but after installing one at the top of the other stairs we discovered that it is a royal pain in the ass to open and close, since it requires two hands and coordination and thinking. So we returned the other one and decided to stick with the ghetto-ass gate. Because the other gate was hard to open. Which. You know. IS KIND OF THE FUCKING POINT.
But! But! Before you pelt me with batteries, let me explain! Noah really knows how to go up and down stairs! He knows to climb down backwards! We wanted a gate here more for just a general deterrent than a safety thing, since the basement is currently the most un-baby-proofed area of the house since we've pretty much just been chucking boxes and Random Things We Don't Know What To Do With Yet down there.
So okay, that explanation is still totally devoid of logic, since Noah opened the gate by accident. (I think. Because I was not watching him. Because...I had...stuff to do. On the...Internet. Yeah.) I'm pretty sure he was leaning on the gate and noticed that the latch is very button-like, and if there is one thing Noah loves more than peanut butter crackers, it is a good button to push. So he pushed it, and the weight of his body was enough to push the gate out of the groove and swing open. And ta-DA! Headfirst down the stairs.
Anyway. That's the entire, overly-detailed story of The Time My Kid Fell Down The Stairs, Which Will Now Never Happen Again Because I've Learned Lessons And Shit, And In Fact, I Am Fairly Confident That He Will Never Injure Himself In Any Way Again.