Before I begin, let me share my success of the week: my short story, “The Third Day,” placed in the top ten for the Glass Woman Prize. The link only lists the story, because I’m still hoping to publish it elsewhere, but I’m pretty proud of this honor–there were well over 900 entries, and I helped with the first-round reading, so I know how good the quality of the entries was.
My mom tells this story about me when I was about Julianna’s age. Apparently I went into the bedroom while my parents were at breakfast and dragged my baby sister out of the crib and carried her out to the kitchen shoved up against my chest.
Can you guess why I’m sharing this story?
Last night I was folding laundry in the upstairs hallway, with Michael lying on the floor beside me, while Christian gave baths. He sent the middle two to me for dressing for bed. I got Julianna ready, and Nicholas came down the hall. I turned around to pick up a diaper–I mean, literally turned around to pick up a diaper–and when I turned back around, Julianna was standing in the hallway with Michael crushed against her chest, hanging down like a flopping baby doll. She looked incredibly pleased with herself. “Julianna, no!” I shrieked, and rescused him before she gave him brain damage, dropping him on the floor.
This experience taught me that there is no safe place in the house for Michael if my eyes are not on him, except the crib. So this morning, when I needed to use the bathroom, I went out of my way to put him out of her reach, in the crib. Except apparently even that isn’t safe, because I started hearing bloodcurdling screams. I rushed back to the scene to find that she had grabbed him by the arm through the crib rail and dragged him over to the edge. Where she was presently engaged in trying to pull him by the arm through the rail. His arm was at a horrible angle. I was actually afraid she’d dislocated it.
I suppose this means that for the forseeable future, I have to have a WAY better idea of where my daughter is and what she is doing at all times of the day. Nice, Julianna. Like I needed anything else to worry about. (Note to Dottie: are you sure it’s too late to run away?????)
All kidding aside, I know these stories are funny, but I am a little freaked out. I already stop to make sure he’s breathing far more often than I ever did with the first three. I suppose that’s a NICU gift that keeps on giving, but I would never have thought I would become one of those moms. It’s not like me.
On a different subject: Here’s an article I wrote for Liguorian magazine’s December issue. They asked me to write a reflection on generosity as it relates to the Advent/Christmas season. I focused on Christmas as the gift of a person, Jesus, and how that might shape the way we look at giving–in other words, giving of ourselves more than giving Stuff.