Today my baby girl rolled herself off the sofa and onto the floor. I had foolishly turned my back for half a second to have a stretch (one of life’s great pleasures, stretching out the middle of your back after hours of baby holding).
I heard a thud, which made my heart jump, and the dozen potential awful scenarios flash through my mind. I saw the ambulance, the glassy eyes, the police reports…
She was red in the face, in pain and in shock, and I felt like a hideous person. In the second it took to pick her up off the floor I could feel the uber calm mummy within take over, so I kissed her, told her how sorry I was, and she stopped crying. Her little face returned to peaches and cream, her body relaxed against mine.
So where’s the success? Calm mummy took over, and the incipient panicker who perches on my shoulder failed in her mission to make me call 999 whenever she winces, gurgles too much (or not enough) or does an “interesting” poo.
My whole ethos with regards to my rather sensitive daughter is to try and stay calm, to ease her way through the world by being a relaxing influence, and hopefully enable her to become a secure functioning adult.
I kept a close eye on her, and confirmed that her behaviour was as normal as could be expected from a four month old baby.