I dropped Oba last night.
Oba’s my 1 year and seven month old nephew.
We had had a dandy evening – my aunt, the nanny, Oba and I – watching So you think you can dance and having all the people we rooted for get selected into the top twenty.
Now, somewhere in between the excitement and fun, I picked him up, tossed him in the air, did a little over the shoulder stunt and…
He was faced down on the floor.
I stood still. Damn! The earth – as far as I knew – stood still.
I had a panic attack like I never felt before.
I was gonna die.
Someplace in the middle of his wailing and my screaming, his mom – bless her soul – had picked him up, consoling and checking for broken bones, missing teeth or swollen spots.
I just couldn’t move even after I shut the hell up.
I stood rooted to the spot, a thousand activities going on around me. All I could hear was the pain he was feeling. All I could think was the misery I just put him through. It just echoed on and on in my mind even after he was silent. And in those wee moments a dozen of thoughts went through my mind. Only one stuck.
Would I toss all my children down in a careless stunt, am I gonna be a good mom?