My oldest was not a sleeper. She hated to sleep. The first week we brought her home, I was tempted on multiple occasions to return her. She cried all the time. When she wasn't nursing or staring aimlessly around, she cried. We started out with her bassinet next to our bed to make getting to her easier. Within in a few months she was cozily snoozing along side us, both of us too exhausted to put up much of a fight. After one particularly bad night, I was exhausted. I had barely gotten three hours of sleep and we'd finally gotten our little one to really sleep around 5 a.m.
At that time my husband worked early morning shifts as a janitor on the college campus. This meant that he was usually up and gone by 4:30 or 5 a.m., which also meant he had an alarm set for around 4 a.m.. One early Saturday morning, my husband had the day off. Unfortunately he had forgotten to shut the alarm on his phone off and he'd left it in the living room the night before. When it went off the first time, I hustled out of bed to the living room, hit snooze and came back to bed, shutting the door on my way back in. My sleep induced brain did not think to shut the alarm off or bring it back to the room. For some reason ,shutting the door so it wouldn't be as loud, was my brilliant plan.
The alarm went off again about 15 minutes later. I could hear it through the door which meant my peacefully sleeping 6 month old could too. I jumped out of bed and ran towards the living room. In my haste, and exhaustion, I forgot that I had shut the bedroom door. My forehead became very well acquainted with our bedroom door, as I slammed face first into it, landing on my back on the floor. The resulting slam was followed by my husband's confused "What are you doing" and the wails of a now not-sleeping infant. Unfortunately my husband's brain caught up with him much faster than mine and he spent the rest of the morning reenacting my graceful morning wakeup call.
Then there's the time I left the car keys in my daughter's hands and tried to start our car with a plastic set of toy keys, going to church without a bra on (and not realizing it until I started to change afterwards) and tripping down stairs while holding the hand of our oldest, taking her down with me.
I'd like to think that my brain has gotten a little less fogged as my children have gotten a little bigger. But, distractions of older childhood serve as just a powerful brain killer as dealing with a newborn.
Last year I was at home with my oldest (I feel like I blame a lot of my klutzy moments on her....) she spilled something on the floor. It wasn't a big deal, but I was in the middle of working and a little irritated. So I stomped over to the hallway closet to grab her a towel. I was in such a tizzy that I yanked the door open. grabbed the towel and slammed the closet door--- into my face.
The resounding crack and then the thump of me hitting the floor ,with my face cradled in my hands, brought my daughter into the hallway.She just stood there and stared as blood poured between my fingers. I'm pretty sure I traumatized her for life.I finally managed to snag a towel from the closet and get it over my face, so that I could get her to call her dad on the phone. I jacked up my nose pretty good and not have a scar to prove it.
Being a mom is hazardous. Not only do we have to deal with the basic parenting trials, but there are physical dangers that result as we get less sleep, eat less and lose our tempers more. I'd like to include a motivational picker-upper, but I fear that there's little hope for eliminating the physical scars that come from parenting, and I'm not sure I'd want to totally eliminate the risk. They make for funny stories and great ways to get your kids to do something for you. Keep that "I carried you around for nine months' speech in your pocket and pull out the trusty, "You know I used to spend most of my nights awake rocking you! One time I was so tired...." It makes for a much better story (0=