So I was working on another entry -- one I've been bashing around for awhile, one about motherhood and the fears and feelings of inadequacy I used to have, and oh, how SILLY those fears seem now, in the thick of the glorious love I feel for my sweet little son, a love that gives me confidence and a remarkable feeling of ease in my own skin -- when I heard a tremendous crash.
Noah figured out how to open one of our baby gates (TAKE THAT, BILINGUAL GENIUS GYMBOREE CHILD) and fell all the way down the basement steps. There was much screaming and a bloody nose and another black eye.
He's fine now. But I think I need a hug.
And maybe a boost so I can get back up on my damn parenting high horse. Thanks.
Edited to add, now that I've stopped shaking too much to hold the camera steady:
Basking in the warm healing glow of the television. Because there is NO END to the fabulous parenting around here. But hey, you shoulda seen the other guy.