Yesterday, one of my mommy anxieties came true: Cate rolled off of our bed.
We were about to take a mid-morning nap together, so I was sitting on the bed right next to her. She was at least a foot from the edge of the bed, and I turned away to grab her bib and burp cloth. I took my eyes off of her for maybe 3 seconds, and in that time, she did a full 360-degree roll. I turned around just in time to see her fall – I lunged to catch her and missed. She landed like a starfish, arms and legs out, flat on her little face.
Dave was downstairs and heard me scream, then a thump, and then Cate start to wail, so he came up to see what happened. She was fine – it scared her, of course, and I’m sure it hurt, but she didn’t even have so much as a bloody nose. Thank God.
After I got her calmed down, the adrenaline wore off and the nausea kicked in. If it weren’t for my gastric bypassed stomach, I’m pretty sure I would’ve thrown up. (As it is, it’s almost impossible for me to barf.) Instead, we lay down together and she fell asleep on her side facing me, clinging to my chest like a baby koala. She never sleeps like that, so it broke my heart even more, and I lay there with her and cried.
She seems to have forgotten the whole thing already, I just wish I could stop feeling guilty about it. I know this type of thing happens with almost every baby, but then I think about how we all have that nightmare that we’re falling from some great height, and I wonder if these types of events when we’re babies are what put those thoughts in our subconscious. So the idea that I might’ve damaged her tiny little psyche is just killing me. Ridiculous, I know, but that Mommy Guilt is a whopper.