the twig on the branch and the branch on the tree and the tree in the ground and disaster grew all around

I was walking Rascal in the woods this morning with Harvey in the bjorn carrier. Rascal wrapped his leash around a tree, and I leaned in to unwrap it. As I did this, I thought to myself, maybe there are too many branches around here to be leaning in with the baby's face out... oh well... next time. Then I straightened up to find a tiny twig had fallen on the baby's face... actually, it was in his face.. actually, it was sticking out of his nose. I pulled on the end, and it came out. A whole LOT of stick came out. About two inches. More stick than, ideally, you would like present on the inside of your baby's head.

Holding the snotty stick in my hand, seeing the baby's face contract into a sob, I had one of those moments where all time stands still and I think: is this it? Is this the moment? Where I just broke our entire life? Will I forever look back on this morning as the day I reached into the baby's head and pulled out a chunk of brain?

Well, the good news is there was no brain. Just a snotty snotty stick. Not even any blood. But I still freaked out like my life depended on it. I turned on my heals and high-tailed it home, praying all the way. Oh man, did I pray. I prayed way out of proportion for the not-bloody crisis at hand. I drew down healing from heaven, I commanded angels concerning him, I called on all the spiritual authority I had every heard any Christian call on, and I ordered that shit around like it was my job. Hey God who brings folks back from the dead, it's me Leah: PLEASE FOCUS ALL OF YOUR ATTENTION ON THIS TWIG!

The baby, for his part, was pretty good about the whole thing. He cried for a moment, and then promptly fell asleep, which is a normal reaction to both trauma and being bounced quickly home, but it made me even more freaked out. When I reached home I practically threw the baby into Judy's arms, just as she was pulling up in the car. I called the pediatrician and tried to find an appropriate way to explain how I got a stick two inches up my kids nose without making it sound like they should call DSS. A moment later the nurse came on the line and told me that it was fine... they actually stick swabs up kids noses all the time, and if it hits anything bad then the nose will bleed. No blood? No problem. And by this time, Harvey had looked like he had forgotten the whole incident completely.

That was maybe an hour ago, and I'm still sitting here shaking, so I'm going to go run and try to forget about the feeling where I saw the future flash before my eyes and then disappear. Oh Lord, it's tough to be a mom!



Theoretically we one day want Harvey to sleep in his own room, in his crib, like a big boy with parents who aren't walking zombies. But it's just so hard. He needs me for feeding every few hours. And petting his back. And watching him sleep. Which is why if you step foot in the baby room this week, this is what you'll see:

So yeah, mommy may have some issues around boundaries... Another blogger summed it up better in her recent post about how parenting is "totally f***ed"

Nature hard wires you to want them close and worry about them for their whole lives, and then demands that if you're doing it right that they then really boldly walk away into their own destinies and leave you standing there, still feeling like you're totally in charge of whether or not they live or die or get a sandwich.

Read the whole thing here. Her daughter is moving to Australia. Our son is only trying to move across the hall, between the hours of 3 and 7 am.