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A not-so-minor accident

Before I say anything else, I just want to thank everybody for their patience with my slowdown in posts. It hasn't been by choice by any means...I've been losing my battle with time. But, I will continue to fight and get back to a more regular schedule...after all, the spilling of one's guts is highly therapeutic.

That said, I had a pretty scary accident on Friday. After a horrendous night of trying to get my very stubborn, incredibly whiney, and super irritating (yes, she was an actual nightmare) daughter to bed for nearly THREE HOURS, I woke up to more of the same. The exact same, to be, well, exact. It was as if she hadn't been asleep for the 9 or so hours that had transpired since she'd collapsed. The behavior from the night before had resulted in the confiscation of a much-beloved doll, which in the morning resulted in the continued wailing. Which, like a good Parenting reader, I ignored. Until she hit me. 

I scooped her up to take her downstairs to the time out chair...mainly because I was the one who needed the time out. Never got there. Instead, I wiped out on the stairs—with her in my arms—and fell a good three-quarters of the way down, knocking my head on a bunch of steps as I slid. Miss Monkey, miraculously, was ok. I, however, couldn't quite move. (Flash forward:Mild concussion, big bruise, otherwise intact.)

After a few minutes, I got up, went straight to my phone and called my husband. I didn't make a whole lot of sense, and I don't think he really understood how worried I was or how bad the fall. He couldn't do anything anyway. The weather was crap. Roads were closed all over and he doesn't live anywhere close.  It didn't occur to me until later that I called him on reflex. When something happens, good or bad, he's the one I want to talk to first. At the ER (I asked my friend who was staying with me to take me b/c I couldn't stop thinking about Natasha Richardson), his number was the one I gave as my emergency contact. Who else could it be?

Since then, I've been thinking a lot more about what it really means to be alone: I don't have my person anymore. The one who would and could drop everything without question to rescue me. I was lucky this time to have had a friend staying with me. I'm really not sure what I would have done if I had been alone with my daughter when I wiped out. None of my family lives here. Most of my closest friends are a good 45 min away. I guess I would have called my neighbors across the street, but only after stressing about imposing and causing them trouble. 

Bottom line: This is a whole new kind of scary. Frankly, I'm surprised it took me this long to see this part of my life as a single mom given my penchant for paranoia and hypochondria. I have to stop thinking about it though. Otherwise, I'm not sure I'll be able to leave the house.