Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I am not the most calm, rational person on the planet. I like to think I am in possession of an overabundance of common sense, but the truth is that in a crisis I’m more likely to fall apart and roll around on the floor with my tail tucked between my legs.
When Boo fell off the couch on Saturday, I freaked out. As in, full-on foaming at the mouth crazy with worry that he had knocked teeth out or given himself a concussion or cracked his skull. Because my parents were there, I sucked back the urge to scream,”OH MY GOD! My bay-beeeee! Someone call 911 and FEMA and Miss Cleo! He’s dying.” Instead, I just dissolved into a pathetic, blubbering mass and snatched him from my mom’s arms so that I could reassure myself that all the bits he came out of the womb with were still attached and in one piece.
But y’all, he’s a boy. Stuff like this is going to happen a lot, so I’ve got to learn to deal with it a little more effectively. And soon. Because I’m pretty sure this kid is going to make me die of fright if I don’t.
Tonight, Boo was having one of those crazy spells during which I wonder who spiked his sippy cup with meth. He was literally bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball shot out of a potato cannon, and I knew something was going to get broken, so I decided he needed to chill out for a little while in his bed. So I deposited all 30 pissed off pounds of him in his crib and turned on Wheel of Fortune, which immediately had some kind of mystical soporific effect. He fell over onto of his giant ass blue rabbit and stuck a finger up his left nostril, basking in the glow of Vanna’s blindingly white teeth.
Not even five minutes later, I heard a crash and a wail.
I won’t lie; I almost shit a brick. I went sprinting back to his room with my heart in my throat. He was on the floor, screaming like someone had shot him. After I made my initial assessment (no blood, no leaking brain matter, no broken bones, thank you God, baby Jesus, and the makers of adult diapers) it hit me. He wasn’t in his bed. Where I had left him.
Obviously, he was all right. Just shaken up. But now in possession of the knowledge that his crib isn’t the high security prison it once was. Which kind of sucks, because I’m awfully fond of being able to put him to bed only once.
I guess this means we’re going to have to start thinking about buying Boo a real bed–and that means my mom gets to lord that whole haha, I was right! schtick over my head.