I was with my mom yesterday and we were getting ready to leave to grab dinner. I was a little hungry (read: pregnant = starving), so I was trying to speed the process up. Let's go here folks. I loaded up with my purse (x-large size, of course), my diaper bag, and the "out-to-eat" bag with toys. Plus Paul.
Yes, probably not my best judgment call here. But two trips was one trip too many when I wanted to go NOW.
So we're heading out of the house. I let Paul walk on his own. We are on the porch outside. The brick porch. That descends with two small steps to the concrete sidewalk.
I should have picked Paul up. Or at least held on tightly to him. But he let go of my hand and went for the steps himself. First step. Success. Second step. Not so much. I watch in slow motion as he misses the second step and falls face first onto the sidewalk.
I drop all my bags and rush to him - bleeding and crying. It is so sad. He has a sore on his nose, his eye and forehead.
And all this is the day before my mother's wedding.
To dispel all worries though, I must say, he recovered like the tough little boy he is. We cleaned up, went to dinner. He ate like a champion and was in good temperament.
Today he dressed up in his finest and showed off his boo-boos. We just told everyone that someone tried to snatch his pacifier.
And they should have seen the other kid.
