I've never felt so guilty in all my life.
Well, except for the time I was cooking while holding Benson, leaned in too close to the stove and accidentally burned his leg on the pan.
Or the time Isabella got a hold of my rolling quilt cutter and I pulled it out of her hand to stop her from cutting herself and, well, cut her finger.
Or every time I look at Hayden and hope with all my heart that, as my first child, I haven't ruined the poor kid for life.
Or how I misjudged the width of our door frame several weeks ago and nailed Gavin's head, creating a welt and bruises.
Or when we were in Downtown Portland Maine, on the cobblestone street and I tipped the stroller on it's back wheels to push my 6 week old daughter up the steep hill and her blanket fell out the back of the stroller, but upon closer inspection, it wasn't her blanket, it was actually Isabella. I had forgotten to buckle her in her carseat after dinner. She had a goose egg the size of Rhode Island from that one.
Wait...that wasn't me. (Sorry Babe, but misery loves company and I didn't want to walk down this path of shame without you by my side.)
But with this one I really do feel horribly guilty. We were at the park for the ward fourth of July party and it was a cloudy day, but the sun broke through for five minutes. And it was in those five minutes that a friend grabbed Tory and I on our way to the shade to chat and I left my little baby exposed to the high noon sun. He was fried. I seriously nearly cried every time I looked at his sweet little smiling, chubby face for the next day. After 24 hours the burn was pretty much gone, but the guilt and the fear of skin cancer are imprinted on my mind forever.
Well, except for the time I was cooking while holding Benson, leaned in too close to the stove and accidentally burned his leg on the pan.
Or the time Isabella got a hold of my rolling quilt cutter and I pulled it out of her hand to stop her from cutting herself and, well, cut her finger.
Or every time I look at Hayden and hope with all my heart that, as my first child, I haven't ruined the poor kid for life.
Or how I misjudged the width of our door frame several weeks ago and nailed Gavin's head, creating a welt and bruises.
Or when we were in Downtown Portland Maine, on the cobblestone street and I tipped the stroller on it's back wheels to push my 6 week old daughter up the steep hill and her blanket fell out the back of the stroller, but upon closer inspection, it wasn't her blanket, it was actually Isabella. I had forgotten to buckle her in her carseat after dinner. She had a goose egg the size of Rhode Island from that one.
Wait...that wasn't me. (Sorry Babe, but misery loves company and I didn't want to walk down this path of shame without you by my side.)
But with this one I really do feel horribly guilty. We were at the park for the ward fourth of July party and it was a cloudy day, but the sun broke through for five minutes. And it was in those five minutes that a friend grabbed Tory and I on our way to the shade to chat and I left my little baby exposed to the high noon sun. He was fried. I seriously nearly cried every time I looked at his sweet little smiling, chubby face for the next day. After 24 hours the burn was pretty much gone, but the guilt and the fear of skin cancer are imprinted on my mind forever.
