The Leaning Tower of Gellie

My 2 year old ran to me this morning saying “un tared! un tared!” I’ve become rather fluent in toddlerese, but this was a new one. “Upstairs?” While I took a moment to crack the code he gripped my pant legs with both hands and yelled again, “un tared! Un tared!” Then I realized the gardeners were outside. As the noise got louder it hit me, “you’re scared?” He looked up at me with big eyes that said yes woman! That’s what I’m telling you! and scurried up my body like a little monkey so I would hold him.

It was precious. My baby boy told me he was scared. When you’re a mom these moments make you melt. When you’re a disabled mom all you can think is oh crap, I hope I don’t drop him…or fall…

I told him we should go to the window to see, which of course freaked him out. The thing is I can’t hold him and walk. That’s pushing it beyond the safety threshold. Kids have ninja moves for when they do and don’t want to be held. When they refuse to be put down, they wrap their little monkey legs around you so tight that when you bend over to put them down, you not only fail to peel them off your body but your entire upper center of gravity becomes compromised. You feel yourself slowly keeling over like the leaning tower of Pisa. Think quickly! Stand back up! And it’s toddler for the win!

I hobbled the two small steps to the couch so I could throw us both to safety. There is nothing funnier to a 2 year old than we all fall down! The fall broke his grip from my body so I ran – ok that’s a lie – more like hobbled quickly to open the curtains so he could see there was nothing to be afraid of. Ever see a disabled woman hobble quickly? The poor gardener looked up to see my Quasimodo disheveled ass stumble against the sliding glass door, as I threw my hands up to yell “Ta da! See!”

My son ran over to watch the man mowing our grass and I took a moment to gasp for air. I was exhausted. My knee is still throbbing. But I’m feeling pretty good right now. I’ve been down the past few days, questioning my progress, feeling scared that I’ll never quite be my old self again. Despite my fear and doubts, my kid still thinks I’m awesome. And that’s, well, pretty damn awesome.