Some internal alarm went off. I spun around to see her slip down the first stair. Then the second. A scream stuck in my throat as I lunged toward my precious baby, my life, now sliding down down down just beyond my desperate grasp. The third. The fourth. And on. And on. And on.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
She tried to stop herself. Tried to turn. It put her into a spin. There were four more stairs to go.
The scream made its way out as I kept trying to grab her but instead saw her rolling, head spinning, her little arms flailing as she spun and bounced out of control down to the floor.
My heart stopped beating. The world disappeared.
Her screams pierced my head. Oh Thank God. She is crying. Thank You God. Thank You God. Thank You God.
I scooped her up and ran. I found the couch and opened my eyes to look down at my screaming baby. My life.
No blood. Nothing seemed broken.
She grabbed at my breast desperate for comfort. I clung to her desperate for ... reassurance? forgiveness?
She's OK. Nothing more than a slightly swollen lip. I don't know if I will ever forget what I saw. The memory is so sharp that it still causes my heart to tighten. I don't know if I will ever forgive myself.
Funnily enough though, she still loves to climb the stairs.