A Mommy Story

Thoughts that go through my mind right after I’ve fallen down the stairs:

• Ow
• Thank goodness I wasn’t carrying Cordy
• I hate carpeted stairs
• Ow, ow
• Damn, I wasn’t even wearing socks this time (socks make it easier to slip)
• Wow, first time I’ve really fallen down the stairs here.
• Ow, ow, ow
• For once, I’m glad my butt is well-padded

Yes, in fine klutz form, I fell down the stairs yesterday afternoon. It’s been over two years since I really took a tumble, so it caught me by surprise. I was upstairs doing laundry, then started walking down the stairs and around the second step down I overshot the step and slipped. At this point, the slow-motion fall took effect as I skidded down the stairs, unable to stop thanks to the evils of carpeted stairs. Finally, about half-way down, I managed to grab the handrail and stop myself.

Aaron was away for the day, so I was home alone with Cordy. She heard the loud thumps and came around the corner, looking up the staircase at me with her toddler innocence. Mama! she said, holding her empty sippy cup up to me. Who cares that you fell down the stairs – this sippy cup needs juice!

After sitting on the steps for a minute and assessing the injuries, I slowly got up and fulfilled the requests of my toddler boss. No rest for the injured mommy.

I have a history of falling down stairs. (Maybe that’s why we always lived in ranch style houses growing up?) A genetic predisposition to being clumsy + big feet = a danger to myself and others around staircases. I had become over-confident since my last fall, though. I wasn’t holding the handrail. I wasn’t consciously keeping track of where my feet were. There was no thought to the possibility of falling. Complacency is evil, folks.

Today I’m sore, but no permanent damage, other than making me extra cautious around the stairs again. And it means I will continue to hold Cordy’s hand when she makes any attempts to walk down stairs. Seeing her so far, there’s a good chance she’ll inherit my stunt-work.