Well, well, a new year. The Mentzer unit spent the last week watching over Casa Del Fix while Andy, Kim and Ollie the ogre slayer visited their fans back in Michy. It was a nice little vacation for us, we wallowed in the wondrous sensation of living on our own again. But, their house can get COLD on the main floor, so we spent almost all of our time upstairs where the heat is. We watched a little tv, played on the floor quite a bit (as we always do) and enjoyed the company of their cat, Havarti. He is awesome, and the spitting image of my beautiful little Smoke, the cat I had way back in '99 and '00 and he's amazingly cool with babies!!! He totally got up in Baron's face, which Lil' Bear was completely unprepared for. He's used to the mangy ol' curmudgeon of a feline that sulks around Nana's house; Mo. Mo don't like no kids. Havarti, on the other hand (paw?) let Baron get right up to him and pat him up a bit and even tolerate a bit of hair pulling and the whole time Havarti did nothing more than bat back at him, claws sheathed. Great cat.
. So, Baron was counting sheep upstairs in his crib and I was scrounging through Andy's kitchen, taking bites of things and putting the rest back when I heard Da Bear start to cry upstairs. I new he was going to wake up hungry so I got a bottle together, heated it up, slammed the nipple back on and headed up the stairs. He was crying pretty good, but he does that sometimes. I reached the top of the stairs, walked up to his crib and peeked my head over the side to see his sad little face look back at me as he let out a fresh wail. I set the bottle down and reached in to gather him and I brushed a little string that was on his left bicep. But it didn't move so I pinched it with my fingers and pulled and it was stuck. Baron screamed. I looked closer and realized to my horror that a thread hanging from the edge of the blanket that I put over the edge of his crib to block out the light had wrapped around his arm and it was TIGHT. I gave another little tug while I tried to determine which way it was twisted and there was no give. His scream intensified. I didn't panic (much to my surprise upon reflecting back on it now) but I was struck with a deep urgency to do something to stop my sons' pain. I immediately remembered the finger nail clippers I had just used that morning and I ran over, grabbed it and tried to calm Baron as his struggling was just cinching the little string tighter, like a tiny python. I dove in, got the string, clipped it and it mercifully released. I scooped my Lil' Bear up and held him as close and a terrified parent can hold their child when they're hurting. He stopped crying after a couple of seconds and was smiling again in a minute or two but my heart was galloping for a bit longer than that. I felt so bad, so, so, sooooooooo bad. What if I'd taken the time to make a fresh batch of formula? What if I hadn't heard him right away? I know he could have suffered damage to his arm if it had taken me a few more minutes to get to him than I did. I checked his arm after five minutes or so and he had a thin, deep red ring all the way around him arm. He'd already moved past it by that time, it wasn't sore to the touch or anything. But I learned another major lesson while dodging a bullet.
I also learned another important lesson about always bringing food for him whenever we leave the house, no matter how short a trip I think we might be on. We went to pick up mommy from work a couple of days ago. Left for Beaverton about two in the afternoon to make the twenty minute drive. Everything was fine until we reached the top of the Sylvan hill on highway 26 and small flakes began to fill the air. Ten minutes later mommy was in the car and white stuff was everywhere. We headed back on 26 and then saw it was backing up so we got off to go on Burnside. We sailed past St. Vincent's, headed up the hill and then BAM! We were stopped at the cemetery, an uneven line of cars blocking both sides of the road ahead. An armoured car in front of us was sliding inevitably towards the ditch every time his tires began to turn and an old man coming towards us in the other lane at a snails pace, his old foot pushing all the way down on the accelerator as his screaming tires slowly, oh so slowly fishtailed within inches of my drivers door were just the tip of the iceberg in what was to be a very long evening. Everybody was sliding all over the damn place. Nobody knows how to drive in snow around here. Everybody has these lead right feet that either slam down on the gas and make them lose traction and go all over the place or slam down on the brake and make them lose traction and go all over the place. Come on, people! You gotta squeeeeeze that brake, squeeeeeze that gas. Maybe it was the season I spent driving a beat up Ford Taurus with bald tires up Mt. Hood everyday to work at Meadows, maybe it was growing up in the sticks, I don't know. But, I do know how to drive in the snow. For the first time in our relationship Christina was singing praised about my driving. It took us FOUR AND A HALF HOURS TO GET BACK HOME TO ANDY'S!!! THAT'S NOT AN EXAGGERATION! FOUR AND A HALF HOURS!!!! I couldn't believe it. But the worst part of the whole cluster f%$# was our starving little boy in the back seat. Again, I felt so, so, soooooo very bad. He was miserable and with every cry I wanted to get him home that much more. Never, ever leave home without baby food. You never know when everything is going to go all 'The Day After Tomorrow' on ya. AGH!!! Maybe I could offer classes for driving in the snow?
. Anyway, I learned two big lessons at the close of the old year so that I could enter the new year armed with knowledge and experience with which to help me raise my son. In one piece. Cross your fingers.......
No comments:
Post a Comment