The other day I took my Pookers to a take out restaurant with outdoor seating. A gaggle of moms watching their children play in the open field commented how cute my daughter was. (So it is not just me who finds her exceptional.) I thanked them and began to wheel her from the brick seating area to the grassy square so she could watch and chase the bigger kids.
Since it was all of about 10 yards, I could have carried her and pushed the stroller with one hand. I could have fastened her into the stroller too as the instruction manual insists. Instead, I took the lazy mommy route and pushed the stroller with my baby sitting upright. At least she was sitting upright until we hit a snag transitioning to the dirt. My daughter fell face first into the dirt in front of all of the moms who were just admiring my daughter and their children who took a break from their game of tag to watch my embarrassment.
I held my screaming baby as the witnesses tried to comfort telling me that she landed on the soft earth. I brushed the dirt from her face and clothing yet it remained surprisingly stubborn on her lips and chin.
Someone once told me that babies tend to freak out more from the loss of control when falling then the actual body on ground impact. I know Pookie was probably more scared than hurt but the screaming of bloody murder around the small beach community made it sound like I was torturing my angel.
And so I get nominated in the Bad Mommy Category for the day.