An Open Letter to Child Welfare Services
If any of you are reading, I really do love my daughter. A lot.
I just have to remember that though I hold her like a football, she is not actually a football.
Ainsley had promised some friends she would join them for a ladies-only night out at a restaurant, but since it's Thursday, Dad was over to help, so what could go wrong?
I'd asked him to put Erin down for a hot second while I was cooking dinner so he could go wash Ryan's hands, but then she started to complain in that adorable spitting cobra way of hers, so I took her out to the front porch for a change of scenery and temperature. Did the trick. But as I opened the front door, Tomas darted out, so I instinctively bent down
NOT OVER BUT DOWN
and grabbed his body with my spare hand. Unfortunately, the non-nerf that is my daughter's upper half bent down, too, and she caught the corner of the door with the crown of her head.
So we went from snake to screeching chimpanzee in a flash.
It was all I could do to quickly get a thawing bottle ready and try to soothe her, which I was finally able to do on the back deck after Dad tried in the living room, fearing that I would somehow drop her in my frustration and palatable disbelief that I had actually hurt my daughter again in so short a time. Grr.
She enjoyed another stroll up and down the street, and while Dad took care of Ryan upstairs, I walked Erin around downstairs, feeding the dogs and cats and cleaning up whatever I could with just one arm. She finally started really crying again, until she suddenly had enough and fell asleep across my arms, a fistful of shirt in her right hand. She woke up twenty minutes later, but Ainsley returned ten minutes after that, so I was finally able to go spell Dad, who was still trying to get Ryan to enjoy that lovely period everyone else on the planet calls bedtime. It was after 10:30 before he stopped gabbing. At least he went to bed with a 98-degree temp.
I just have to remember that though I hold her like a football, she is not actually a football.
Ainsley had promised some friends she would join them for a ladies-only night out at a restaurant, but since it's Thursday, Dad was over to help, so what could go wrong?
I'd asked him to put Erin down for a hot second while I was cooking dinner so he could go wash Ryan's hands, but then she started to complain in that adorable spitting cobra way of hers, so I took her out to the front porch for a change of scenery and temperature. Did the trick. But as I opened the front door, Tomas darted out, so I instinctively bent down
NOT OVER BUT DOWN
and grabbed his body with my spare hand. Unfortunately, the non-nerf that is my daughter's upper half bent down, too, and she caught the corner of the door with the crown of her head.
So we went from snake to screeching chimpanzee in a flash.
It was all I could do to quickly get a thawing bottle ready and try to soothe her, which I was finally able to do on the back deck after Dad tried in the living room, fearing that I would somehow drop her in my frustration and palatable disbelief that I had actually hurt my daughter again in so short a time. Grr.
She enjoyed another stroll up and down the street, and while Dad took care of Ryan upstairs, I walked Erin around downstairs, feeding the dogs and cats and cleaning up whatever I could with just one arm. She finally started really crying again, until she suddenly had enough and fell asleep across my arms, a fistful of shirt in her right hand. She woke up twenty minutes later, but Ainsley returned ten minutes after that, so I was finally able to go spell Dad, who was still trying to get Ryan to enjoy that lovely period everyone else on the planet calls bedtime. It was after 10:30 before he stopped gabbing. At least he went to bed with a 98-degree temp.
posted by Dan at 9:00 PM
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