I am what people would consider a helicopter parent. I’m the kind of guy who simply doesn’t want anything bad to ever happen to my child. Ever. I realize that’s not a realistic expectation, but that’s just who I am.
Last night Ankle Biter and I were on our way into my current home for supper when something happened that was simply out of my control…but it certainly didn’t make me feel any better.
We sometimes like to race into the house…where my son likes to “beat daddy” to the front door.
Last night I was unlocking the door, Ankle Biter came tearing up the front steps. Unbeknown to me, he had a small toy in each hand. On the steps was about an inch or two of snow that I hadn’t cleaned up yet. As I was trying to unlock the door, he was trying to push me aside and get through the door first.
His face hit the metal bottom of the front door. Y’know, the base of the door itself. He immediately began to cry. I immediately began to panic.
The blood began to run down his chin.
I was mortified. I didn’t know if it was his teeth or his gums or what it was. All I knew was that he was crying and bleeding and all I wanted to do was comfort him as much as I possibly could.
In the end, he just split open his lip…but it could have been much worse. When I close my eyes and picture it, I cringe at what could have happened and all I can think about it was I could have done to prevent it.
I know the whole deal, though: boys will be boys. Children aren’t made of glass. He’ll survive. Blah blah blah.
Still…those thoughts did NOTHING to make me feel any better once I came home after dropping him off and seeing this at my front door: