I fell over yesterday. And not just a trip over the corner of a rug in the living room either! Looking back I should be mortified. Far from it!
I was walking Boo up to the car. Crossing the pavement, it would appear that the ONLY ice in the whole of a 20 mile radius was in our path (I think some ‘thoughtful’ person must have de-iced their windscreen with water and split some on the way)! Not only did I fall, but I fell hard. I fell spectacularly. Arms and legs flailing! ‘Dancing on Ice’ I was NOT!
This meant that there was no stopping Boo either. He was holding my hand and his wellies were as useless as my trainers against the sheer, slippery surface.
As we both went down, he went face first.
All I could think of was how I could stop Boo and when I couldn’t, for a split second, utter fear set in, not knowing how he’d landed on his little face. As instantly as was possible under the circumstances, I scooped him up (still on the floor myself), an unstoppable rush of distress as I noticed blood in his mouth, followed by a massive sense of relief as it became apparent that he had a small cut on his lip with no other visible signs. Grabbing him tight to me, I sat there, on the pavement, legs akimbo, rocking and hugging him, reaching out for his little snowman toy and dummy in an attempt to comfort him. I then took my trainers off and carried Boo, in my socks, to the car to get him safe and out of the cold.
Never have I felt less concerned about how I look, what other people might think or about my own bumps and bruises. How great is that! I’m a proper mum!