Holy Shit, Mom

Today was concussion day in our household. The boys were a little bit accident prone. Connor ran into Jorma's foot as Jorma was swinging his foot over the baby gate, knocking him, (Connor) backwards and launching a meltdown any drama queen would envy.

Jorma while trying to fix the office desk, was laying on the floor and leaned his head down quickly towards the floor where it was quickly introduced to the corner of the drawer he was fixing, resulting in a bleeding cut behind his ear.

I only bring up these two incidents to lessen my own guilt, as I almost dropped a DVD player on our child's head. I had it on top of the TV which is on top of the chest of drawers in our bedroom and was kneeling on the floor trying to get more length from it's plug that lives in the socket behind the same chest of drawers. The DVD player fell from the top of the television, bounced on the chest of drawers and came hurtling at light speed towards me and Connor, who was hovering behind me like a dimpled, rosy cheeked leech. We were saved from it's murderous attempt by me barely catching it by the cord before it made contact.

I looked at Connor and although he can't talk yet, what he was thinking was clearly indicated in his expression. He said, "Holy Shit, Mom".