So tonight we had an accident. In retrospect it was--now that we know Lucas is OK--nothing big, but it scared the hell out of me and it was my fault. I'd rather not go into details here because I'm ashamed of how stupid I was, especially since I was all of one foot away from him when it happened and thus easily could have prevented it, but suffice it to say that it's the kind of accident that, when you hear about it happening to other babies, you ask, "How could that parent be so stupid?"
Fortunately, Lucas recovered from the initial shock almost immediately--he's a vigorous and generally mild-mannered kid--but he's going to have a very obvious bruise on his forehead. After we assured ourselves that he had no more serious physical injuries and was still mentally very much himself, we gave him some pain relief medicine and he fell asleep nursing while I gently held an ice pack to his head. I've been taking him from his crib every couple hours to apply the cold pack and it seems to be helping with the swelling around the bruise. At last check, three hours post-accident, the spot was turning purplish-black. It will be a constant reminder--as if I need one--of my mistake.
I'm so lucky this wasn't worse. I love my little guy so much, and it just breaks my heart that I let this happen.
All right--I'm slinking off to beat myself up some more. Tonight trillwing = bad mama.
UPDATE: It's now 6 hours after the incident, and Lucas has decided he needs to get up and play, and because I feel guilty and I want assurance that his brain isn't all swollen and malfunctioning, I'm indulging him. So he's got himself a new toy (how much of an abusive parent does that make me seem, buying his affections?) and he's taught himself how to make his swing oscillate without the motor being on. He seems very proud of himself and is all giggles and smiles. Good for him, good for my mental state. . .and bad for the prospect of me getting to sleep anytime soon. But damn, am I ever crazy about that boy.