I tried to write a post three times yesterday and I just couldn’t make it happen.  I tried everything from my cats trying to kill me to being covered in bodily fluids while working in a nursing home.  Nothing was coming together for me, so I decided that I just didn’t have a post in me yesterday.  Then, a miracle happened.

I fell down the stairs.

It wasn’t a super dramatic fall like someone being pushed down the stairs in an episode of Murder She Wrote.  I didn’t careen down exactly 87 stairs only to land in a pretty broken heap on the landing below.

I was coming down the stairs behind my three-year-old son and he sat down on the second to last step and waited for me to open the door to the metal tension gate on the bottom step.  At some point all hell broke loose and I somehow lost my footing and started pitching forward.  I really have no idea what happened.  In an attempt to break my fall I reached out for the metal tension gate…which of course was loose.

This is when I become a fucking hero.  Heroine…whatever.  I knew that this could be a super bad scene if I were to bring my son with me crashing down and getting tangled in a heavy gate, so I somehow launched myself over him.  I fucking used my superhuman mother strength to literally SPRING into action. I ended up in a very awkward heap with my feet and ankles intertwined in the gate.  My son was still sitting on the second to last step looking bewildered but completely unscathed.

Of course my husband came rushing in to see what fresh hell I had gotten myself into this time.  He was coming toward me to ask if I was okay but I was just telling him to check on Joey to make sure that his feet weren’t hurt or anything.  That’s the kind of mother I am.  I am clinging to life on the floor after a traumatic fall and all I can think about is the welfare of my poor little boy who witnessed his mother’s early demise while saving his life.

That’s exactly what happened, except I wasn’t clinging to life.  I also did not meet an early demise.  I did save that little shit, thought.  That part is as real as it gets, bitches!

It was at this point that Joey started crying a bit.  I choose to believe that he was  so overwhelmed with gratitude and love for me that tears welled up in his big hazel eyes and he was overcome with emotion.  My one-year-old son also came over and started crying and trying to get to me.

As Mike checked Joey out to make sure he was okay and comforted both of the crying boys, I was able to untangle myself and try and figure out what had happened.  I couldn’t.  I have no idea what happened and why I fell.  To be honest, I was pretty due for a dramatic fall.  I come from a long long line of ungraceful people.  I had already lived in this house for two and a half years without falling down those stairs.  It was time.  As it turns out it looked and sounded much worse than it was.  I had a few bruises and scrapes but was otherwise uninjured.

Joey and Franky eventually stopped crying once the commotion died down.  Joey may not have been as overwhelmed with gratitude as I thought.  He might have been crying because he realized that his mother was never going to teach him how to dance because she obviously could not get her shit together in the gross motor skills department.  But I am still a goddamn hero.  Heroine…whatever.

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2 Responses to Hero…heroine.

  1. Mike says:

    I really am amazed it’s taken this long for you to fall down the stairs. I’m also really amazed at the dexterity it took to not fall into our son at all. You definitely increased your mom skill.


  2. A wonderful display of maternal love! I hope he’s eternally grateful, but don’t be disappointed if he isn’t!


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