That's what I need: a massage and a boost. The brain forgets what it doesn't need. It does this to reduce stress on the body. It does it to protect itself. My brain has been very protective lately.
Therefore I blog on paper, releasing my thoughts and memories in ceremony. My venue is the front porch where I have clumsily dragged my living room chair and jack's mini-chair. I bring with me the finest blues music and I am accompanied by the best escort, a sleeping baby on my chest. I am sipping on gourmet rich coffee, courtesy of my new Keurig Mini. And I realign the chi. Now life feels easy. Easy like Sunday morning... which The Commodores just so happen to be singing in my background.
Life's perfect bliss is returning.
Let me start with everybody is fine. And I am so grateful. I am lucky. I always remind Jose this when he foresees a potential trauma or other unfortunate incident approaching. His forehead scrunches into a million wrinkles and he squints his eye and I say, "Don't worry. Did I ever tell you I was lucky?"
He knows.
Lucius fell off the changing table. The newborn who can't roll over, grab hold or scoot managed to inch his way over the edge of the table in the mere seconds our eldest stole Daddy's attention. Seconds. He cried right away. A good sign. But it was a cry that overwhelms us with guilt and regret. The kind of cry that comes after that three seconds of stunned silence as the shocked victim registers what just happened. They let me fall.
How did that happen? We have a guard there. We keep the changing pad bordered. He can't even roll over. But he can kick and little man gave a kick so hard it sent him backward, head first down the side that is three times his height. He suffered a bruise to his knee and a scrape to his head, otherwise all limbs intact.
And we are so sorry. We performed a thousand assessments, checked every reflex we could remember, thoroughly palpating his bony structures and his fontanels. We slept lightly that night, frequently jumping up at his change in breathing patterns and occasional coos.
And just as we recovered from one traumatic event, Jack comes skipping over with a white capsule in between his teeth, a big smile on his face. I yank it out, inspecting it to assure it hadn't been punctured to release its' contents. A no-name capsule. White. Found on our foyer. Were there others? Could he have swallowed one? Two? More? What was it and where the f*** did it come from? We keep Children's Liquid Tylenol so high in our closet that the average grown adult requires a step stool to reach it. Jose and I never take medicine, so how did this get here?
Well, the mystery is solved and apparently an unsuspecting pill can hop out of Grandmom's purse, hail a cab over to our house and mosey it's way into a two-year-old's mouth when it feels like it. Parents beware.
And like every cake that gets icing, it also deserves a cherry. Jose calls from work to tell me a patient vomited in his eye. Protocol requires permission for HIV testing and Hepatitis Panel by the patient. Thankfully it was granted and the patient proved his innocence from spending his nights on the corner of the red light district paying for service. But the wait was scary.
Lessons have been learned. We are fortunate to have lost nothing and gained something new: appreciation. I don't think we are missing appreciation here, as evidenced by my blog. Yet, we added some into the bank. It is a great asset to have on a rainy day when you get a speeding ticket and someone steals your wallet. This is when we withdraw from our appreciation bank and recognize what we still have and how lucky we are. I am lucky and everybody is fine.
