Oh. There's a beer and scotch tasting festival at the exhibition hall down the street. I get it now.
I had a whole post based on that going through my head, and I was going to type out all the funny little bits. But then? Lucy fell.
Well, not so much fell as kamikazed.
We were going from her bath to the bedroom for diaper and jammies. Just like any other evening. And in the moment that I reached out for some clean jammies on the table, she squirmed and pushed off my chest with her feet and launched herself over my shoulder.
She landed directly on the north east corner of her noggin on the linoleum. And we both flipped out.
Lu didn't want anything to do with me (thank God the Bubba was home) and a fist-sized goose egg rose immediately on her forehead all black and red and nasty. I tried to get ice on it, tried to gauge her pupil dilation, tried to calm her down. And finally, she was calm, normal, crabby, tired, 7:30pm baby.
I gave her a dose of tylenol (I figure there's no way she doesn't have a headache!) and we put her to bed after an hour of normal, normal, normal. During which time I was hovering over her and trying to put an ice cube in a washcloth on her head, and read her books, and treat her to videos, and make sure she wasn't feeling sick or too drowsy, and, and, and. During which time the Bubba sat in his chair and read a book (I wish I could do that).
BUT! THE GUILT! If I had had a better hold on her... If I hadn't reached out for the jammies. If I had her in a towel like usual instead of lotioned-up and nekkid. I felt like the worst human being.
Not the least of which for my (second) thought of "Well, maybe next time you won't fight your way out of my arms!"
I also offered ice cream and sing-along videos.