A Close Call

As moms, we're hard-wired to worry.

And I did plenty of worrying before.

I worried about kids crossing streets, the accident that would wipe out my entire family and that sketchy looking guy in the van.

I worried about peanuts and products with peanuts in them, West Nile Virus and H1N1. Remember standing in line for that vaccine?

But today I take worrying to a whole new level.

I worry that one of the boys is going to hit his head on the hearth during one of their infamous living room wrestling matches. Seems like a valid concern, right? How about I take it further than a nasty headache? I know what you're thinking. Concussion. Nope. How about a brain bleed? 'Cause that's where my mind goes.

I worry Isaac's going to pin (pound might be more accurate) Tripp just right, and that heart of his - with its tiny hole - is going to up and stop.

I worry about fevers.

Ugh, fevers.

That's what started this whole thing.

This week Tripp had one two nights in a row. Lucky for me our pediatrician understands I might have the tendency to worry more than the typical mom and gave me her cell number on our first visit. But I don't want to be that mom. Oh who am I kidding? I am that mom. Well, certainly the mom no one wants to be.

But I didn't call (and I hope I don't end up regretting that decision).

Anyway, we're moms and we worry. Usually about all the bad things we anticipate happening.

Considering what our family's gone through, you'd think I'd anticipated just about everything. I thought I had - until Isaac pulled our chest of drawers on top of him this morning.

Scott and I had just finished a conversation as to whether Isaac should go to school today or not. By finish, I mean we had acknowledged the fact that he had a hard-core cold and maybe he'd benefit from a day home taking it easy. But no real decision had been made.

Scott hopped into the shower and I laid down to feed Landry.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the shower.

Minutes later, I heard Isaac's voice at the bathroom door. Something about how long 'til you're out of the shower?

Then, a crash.

My God, My God.

The baby's on the bed and I'm...

You know those stories about people developing super-human strength in the face of danger? I'm thinking about the one where the wife is 5-foot nothing and lifts the car off her husband after the jack collapses.

That was me - with a little help from Scott who came sprinting out of the bathroom.

I had no idea what I was going to find under the dresser. I feared what I might find under the dresser. You know where my mind went.

And then.

Screams. Hysterical screams from Isaac. I scooped him up, carried him to the bed, and let my heart and his pound, pound it out.

And thought.

Thank God.

Thank God our bed was where it was (it helped stop the dresser from making full impact). Thank God we had traded the monstrous TV on top of the dresser for a tiny flat screen. Thank God I was only 10 feet away from Isaac when it happened.

So Isaac stayed home with me and we spent the morning nursing that nasty cold and his wounds. I'm not going to lie. He looked pretty rough. But, if the fact that he was fighting invisible bad guys later in the day is any indication, I think it's safe to say he's going to be alright.

But this mom is still a little shaken.