October 17, 2011
Worst. Mother. Ever.
No, don't bother arguing with me. I am. What kind of mother let's her two-year-old son ride in the bassinet stroller meant for an infant?
At least, that's what all the bystanders in the Denver Airport were no doubt thinking when they saw Colin dive head-first out of said stroller and onto the concrete floor. It was a pretty bad fall. So bad, in fact, that after the blood was cleaned up and we flew on to Little Rock and had him checked out by a pediatric dentist (at 8:00 p.m. on a Friday night, thank you very much), it was clear that it had pushed one of his front teeth an inch deep into is gums and sent the other jutting out at a hideous angle.
I am devestated. I know I shouldn't care that much about my child's looks. I mean, thank God, he's OK. But still, it's his smile. His beautiful, beautiful smile, which would bring compliments from strangers on the street and which could melt my heart no matter what troublesome thing he had just done. Now my heart breaks just a little every time he cracks his snaggletooth grin because it just looks so awful and reminds me of what a terrible mother I am.
After all, it's all my own fault. I let Colin ride in Archer's stroller like that even though I knew it was a bad idea, but at the time I thought, "What the hell? It'll keep him from getting into worse trouble."
I suppose I can be a little cavalier about things like that. Colin is an extremely energetic, extremely athletic little boy, and he comes from a long line of such boys (on my side). In my opinion a boy like that has to learn he own limits through experience. They won't listen to anyone. Kevin takes the opposite tack, but then he comes from a long line of men for whom physical activity means turning the pages of a book or building a motherboard. If we disagree about anything in our parenting (and we disagree about very little), it's that I think Colin needs a long leash and Kevin doesn't like him to step too close to a second-floor railing.
But, of course, Kevin is right. And I could see it in his eyes when he returned from that ill-fated Starbucks run I sent him on to find me cradling our oldest son all covered in blood. So from now on, no one gets to have any fun. Ever. At least not on my watch.