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Tumble tumble tumble splat.

It was the worst 3-5 seconds of my life. If I never see anything like that again in my life, it will still be too soon. Eva fell down the stairs last weekend. Actually, let’s be precise. I tripped while she was in my arms and lost my hold on her little body, sending her flying out of my arms and onto the wooden staircase. From there she thumped and bumped her way down to the cement landing. That makes about 8 stairs, plus the 4 feet from my arms, launched like a rocket onto a hard surface and then onto an even harder one.

And she’s fine.

I wasn’t. I’m still not sure I am. One thing that I truly didn’t appreciate before becoming a parent was the incessant fear that would become part of my everyday life. If they aren’t with me and the phone rings, I panic. If they are with me and I hear a loud “thump,” I panic. If they are with me and I hear silence, I panic even more. Raising children is frankly terrifying.

Naturally our multiple floors home doesn’t do much to alleviate my fears. Once the girls started moving I installed the mother of all baby gates at both top and bottom. I mean serious gates. So serious I had to call the company right after I finished the installation to find out how to open them. I’m not joking.

Of course, that doesn’t protect them while moving between their room and the kitchen and living room, a necessary evil. We make a big deal about “on our bottoms!” and holding hands and have pretty much done everything in our power to ensure that they are as safe as they can be here in our home.

No one accounted for wide-bottomed stretchy yoga pants.

My foot caught in the bottom of my trouser and the next thing I knew, I was struggling to keep myself from pitching down the staircase on top of her. All I could do was watch in horror. Our houseguest said my screams “literally came up through the floor of the kitchen.”

I probably reached the bottom of the staircase half a nanosecond after she did and as she lay there, screaming, I somehow, I don’t know how, had the wherewithal to reach behind her head and feel around and down onto her neck. I straightened out her legs and called her name. And when she opened her eyes and screamed right at me, I carefully picked her up, holding her to me and feeling every inch of her at the same time.

The worst few moments of my life. As I sat there, shaking and white (or so I’m told), it became very clear within a matter of seconds that she was okay. Her cry was angry and hurt but absolutely normal. She was holding onto my neck and nothing I did or touched seemed to hurt her. A few minutes (hours it felt like!) she was sitting on my lap, binky and blankie in hand, whimpering and throwing me nasty looks. Which I clearly deserved.

And the rest of the day was spent talking about how poor Eva went “tumble tumble tumble splat” and about how unbelievably lucky we were. She never lost consciousness and was immediately moving everything and acting absolutely appropriately (albeit mad). I watched her the rest of the day to make sure we didn’t have any episodes of vomiting (signs of a head injury) or weird limps (broken bone) or belly pain (internal bleeding). Oh, yes, and there was also a period of lying in a dark room for me.

What have we learned? No matter how careful you are, accidents can happen. Children are bouncy. I can’t keep them safe all the time. But most household falls are not that serious. Good lessons.

Oh but wait. Also when your mother falls while carrying you down the stairs , you get pizza and ice cream for dinner, are allowed to carry your binky and wubbie around the whole day, and get an extra episode of Elmo. Those are also very important lessons.

Go hug your kid for me. Just watch your step.

Dr. Lara Zibners, Jul 19, 2011

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