3 hours ago
Friday, February 13, 2009
Help! I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!
So one day last winter, I sat Natalie down for a talk in a rare moment when she was not glued to the television in semi-conscious state watching Elmo (I pumped for 7 months...the kid watched a lot of television, poor thing).
"Nollie, what would you do if Mama got hurt?" I asked her.
"I dunno," she replied, glancing askew at the TV across the room.
We ran over a list of neighbors she could run to: The Rockys next door, Mr. Roger behind us, The R family across the street...heck, even the trashy family next door with six ferrets and five dogs would do.
"Now, after you run really fast to their door, what would you say?" I quizzed her.
"Help! Mommy is sick and she can't get up!"
Eh, that'll do.
I think she has been waiting for her moment to shine and save us all.
This afternoon I was coming down the stairs holding Michaela Byrd. We'd been upstairs trying to find a distraction from the teething. She needed distraction from the pain, and I needed a distraction from the screaming directed at my left ear for the past two days. I was a little over halfway down when my shoe caught the edge of the stairs and we tumbled. Luckily, I had a good hold on the baby, and my other hand sort of slowed the fall, but I landed square on the bony part of my knees. Ow! I managed to not shout an obscenity, despite the fact that all 62875486e34 pounds of me nailed the linoleum by the front door.
As I lay there crying with Michaela Byrd, who was also crying, I heard the toilet flush and bare feet running through the Kitchen.
"Can I ask 'Woger' for help?" asked Natalie hopefully, peering around the corner.
Her pants were down around her ankles. In her obvious thrill at finally getting to practice being my a super-hero, she had neglected to tend to her clothes. I'm pretty sure Wonder Woman would have remembered her pants, or leotard, or whatever it was that she wore.
"No, thanks." I said, surveying the damage. I have a lump on my arm where it scraped the banister.
I should've sent her anyways with this message: This has been a test of the emergency broadcast system. If this were an actual emergency, I would be covered in peanut butter swiped from the cabinet I can reach when I climb on Daddy's chair. When you do receive an alert, please assume that my sister has scaled some sort of dangerously high furniture piece, and enter our home right away. Only please pretend like you don't see the folded laundry piled on the couch. I'm sure Mommy would want it that way.