Mea Culpa: Or Confessions of a Guilt-Ridden Mama

The boys are up in Canada with their grandparents. And I am in a confessional mood this morning.

Here are my confessions:

1. It is partially my fault that the boys' trip to Ottawa with their grandmother took 12 hours instead of 2, because I didn't know that I could print the boarding passes instead of just the itineraries. Thus their seats were given to others while we waited for Natalie to arrive on her weather-delayed flight.

2. Alec didn't have a bag of things to do on the plane because he didn't pack one, and I didn't feel like packing one for him either because I assumed that Natalie would tell him stories on the short hour flight.

3. Last week I was on the toilet and Dahlia wandered out of the bathroom. The door to the basement had been shut when I went to do my business, but one of her brothers subsequently left it open and she decided to visit her brothers, but she can't fly or go down the stairs without help, and when I found her she was a crying heap at the bottom. And I was sure she'd broken her neck.

4. I picked her up despite a warning in my head that she may have a spinal injury. I picked her up and ran upstairs to call the pediatrician. She stopped crying in a minute or so. The pediatrician's aid said,
"Are the basement stairs carpeted?" Check.
"Can she move her arms and legs?" Check.
"Does she have any noticeable bumps or bruises on her head" No. Check.
"Did she lose consciousness?" No. Check.
"Ok, then just watch her. If she acts any different or throws up bring her in."

5. Then I went to work. I had to. I told Yenny to call me if Dahlia did anything different. I told her to check on her during her nap and not to let her sleep more than an hour. I told her to watch her like a hawk. And then I got in my Camry and drove away.


Epilogue: Thank goodness Dahlia was okay. No harm no foul. And the boys and their grandmother made it to Ottawa in one piece. But I like to think I've learned my lesson, then again, I'm not sure what lesson that is. Perhaps the moral of the story is to get off my keister even if my butt is in a sling.