A good hard fall

I was sitting at the computer this morning checking my email while Milo played the piano so sweetly in the other room. If you have a toddler, you know that there's about a two minute window you can do something on your own, and then you need to check and see what he's gotten into. Well, I must have pushed it to three minutes when I heard a crash followed by a split-second of silence. Then sobs, tears, crying, more crying, Lily crying, dogs barking, possibly sirents, bells and whistles (but I might have imagined that part). All in that one moment. I rushed into the living room to pick up Milo, who was lying right beside the piano bench, which he knows he's not allowed to climb. He must have been up on it and toppled backward, which is why we've been spanking him for getting up there. But did I mention that right then? Absolutely not. I scooped that sweet baby into my arms and held him extra close, whispering, "It's okay, baby. Mama's got you." We just rocked as he cried and I felt for bumps (none, thank goodness), and when he settled a bit I asked, "What hurts?" Well, the new wave of sobs and tears assured me what I had expected, and I read it in his eyes. Everything hurts, Mama. I know how he feels. Because in that moment when you fall, when you should have known better... When you realize your own actions caused the mishap, you can't put your finger on the one thing that hurts. Everything does. And the best thing you can do is lean into the one holding you and cry it all out of your system. After a few more minutes, the sobs subsided and he heaved a deep sigh. He snuggled in closer for one sweet moment, and then popped his head up, climbed down, and went busily on his way. Crisis averted. Lesson learned. I didn't find him on the piano bench again, and I didn't have to say a word. Sometimes a good hard fall can teach us more than a thousand words ever could.