In Sean’s two years of life, I have done a number of stupid things that could have landed me on the nightly news.
There was the time I turned my head for a nanosecond and he did a back flip with a double twist in the pike position off the changing table. By the grace of God, he landed on his hands and feet like a cat. He didn’t even hit his head on anything on the way down. Miraculous. He just looked surprised – or maybe he was reacting to the look on my face. The one that I always wear when my heart stops.
Then there was the time he opened the door to the garage — which we always keep locked except that one time – where he was free to mingle among the paints and pesticides and lawn tools and large heavy things that could fall and flatten him like Flat Stanley. And beyond that, the garage door was up making it an easy toddle down the driveway and into the street – yet nothing bad happened. He was just out there in the garage, crouched down like a baseball catcher examining a dead bug. There is a God — and a merciful one at that.
The incident that really makes me cringe is the time we had a get-together at our house and everyone thought someone else had him. He wasn’t walking yet, but he was cruising and he made his way up the stairs and into my art studio where I found him among paint and paint thinners and sharp sculpture tools. As if that alone weren’t bad enough, he had pulled himself up on the PAPER SHREDDER where he could have easily moved the button to the on position. The possible scenarios beyond that I can’t bear to even think about. When I saw him standing there all safe and sound, I thanked God and all the angels and saints and anyone who had even been near a church of any kind.
But I’ve never driven my car with Sean in my lap. And I guess that puts me one step above Brittney on the motherhood ladder. For now.