Today the inevitable happened: Little Husband rolled off the couch and fell on his head (don't worry, he's okay).
It was only a matter of time. That kid was a whirling dervish from 20 weeks gestation. He *never* sits still. The only time he lets me hold him close to me is if he is in my lap and we're reading a book. He won't take naps with me, he won't cuddle and prolonged hugs are out of the question. Yesterday he was trying to dive off the side of the couch and the only thing preventing him from doing so was the vise-like grip I had on his ankle.
He needs to be more like his father. His father cuddles with and hugs me all the time. Sometimes while mid-embrace I'll look over to see Little Husband watching us, as if he's greatly comforted by our display of affection. The other day while Husband was hugging me I felt a tug on my pants leg. I looked down to see Little Husband looking up at us with his arms out, asking to be held. I picked him up and put him in between me and Husband and we hugged him with everything we had, but he quickly wanted no part of the group loving. That's just how he rolls.
Which brings me to him rolling off the couch. He was drinking a bottle and I, as usual, was sitting next to him with one hand wrapped around his ankle for safety. For one split second I let go to stretch, turning toward him as I did so (if I couldn't keep a hand on him, I would keep an eye on him). To my horror, he was no longer on the couch. I literally saw him dropping down and then heard the sickening thud as the back of his head connected with the wood floor. It was all in slow motion which is such a weird phenomenon. I mean, how on earth is the brain capable of slowing down events in that manner?
I swooped down and picked him up. He was silent for a moment as he digested what had just happened. I waited for the blood curdling scream that I knew was coming but what I got instead was much worse. He let out a high-pitched muted wail, a keening, and kept it up for several minutes as I held him to me, helpless. Husband grabbed a flashlight and we shone it in his eyes to make sure the pupils were dilating (they were). Then Little Husband did something that he's never done his entire life: he laid his head down on my breast and let me hold him to me. We stayed that way for thirty minutes as Husband continued to check his pupils and responses to various stimuli. When he smiled, we knew he was feeling better. When our handyman walked in the door and Little Husband emitted a banshee cry as a way of greeting him, we knew he was going to be okay.
I would never forgive myself if something happened to my little Wild Indian, especially on my watch. After all, it's my job to protect him and he trusts me 100% to do so. Consequently, I've had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach all day. This is the exact same feeling I had when we first found out about his heart condition. Fragile. Breakable. That's how I feel. I guess the feeling is the same because today--like back then--I was reminded just how quickly I could lose my little man.
And that's not an option.