I wish I could tell you some awesome story about a bar fight where Blake was protecting his fragile mom or something. But alas, that's not the case. As you know, it's the other way around. Blake is the fragile one, and I'm supposed to be protecting him. But as you can see in the pics below, I failed to do so this past weekend.
I sat Blake on the bed, and left the room for a mere moment. Of course, that's what you always hear. And as I quickly learned, it takes some babies only a few seconds to find their way off the bed and onto the floor. (To make matters worse, I think he his head on the bedside table on the way down.) Poor guy.
I frantically called the doctor's office and the amazing nurse Mary told me I didn't need to rush to the hospital as I had feared. Instead she proceeded to tell me about other moms who had dropped their babies on the concrete, and many more worse things than what happened to me (er, Blake). She gave me a list of a few scary things to watch out for, and thankfully none of those signs or symptoms ever materialized. In fact, within an hour after the fall, Blake was back to his old self, albeit a little swollen around the eye and forehead. So, he felt better. But I did not.
So we read the story about 8 silly monkeys jumping on the bed. You know the one. Eight silly monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his bed. Momma called the doctor, and the doctor said "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." Bad monkeys. Bad Mommy. :(
