When Troy was five months old,
I carried him all around the house.
When you wait until you are thirty-seven
to have your first baby,
you carry them everywhere and
never let anyone touch them.
Around five PM one night,
I was sitting on my bed
playing with my baby.
Terry came home from work and walked in the room.
Troy saw his daddy,
and shot towards him off the bed
like he got shot out of a cannon!
I wasn't fast enough to grab him
and he fell on his head on the floor.
He started screaming so loud,
that I ran and called 911
while Terry sat on the bed and held him.
I ran out to the road to bring the paramedics in.
They came down the stairs and into the room
and examined our baby.
After a thorough exam the fire fighter asked me,
"Is this your first baby?"
Through heavy tears I told him he was.
Then he informed me that my baby was fine
and that whenever they fall, they cry.
I still feel bad about that.
I feel bad about a lot of things
as a mother. Bad and guilty.
I did my best and Troy is a fantastic person,
and the moral of this story is:
Babies cry all the time
so try not to worry so much.
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