Will I really do anything for my kids?

People say that all the time. "I would do anything for my child." And they probably mean it. Sometimes it's put to the test and sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it's tested with little things, sometimes with big things. You know, there's that mom you heard about that lifted a car because her son was trapped underneath it.

I had a little test.

**warning, potty talk to follow**

I brought my kids into work to show off. They hadn't seen Jack in at least a year and it had been a couple months since I brought Gracie in. Gracie was as sweet as could be just being passed around to all the ladies. Jack, on the other hand, who is dying for it to be warm outside so that he can run around, found the loooong hallways highly entertaining. He hasn’t had that much room to run in quite a while. He would run from one end to the other at top speed, everyone laughing at him the whole time and commenting that they don’t know where he finds the energy.

This is a little off topic, but if you really knew my son you would know that his energy stores are limitless. Sure sure sure, people say that all the time about their kids, but really, his are limitless.

Anyway, back to me.

He was running and running and then stopped in front of the desk where we were all standing and proclaimed that he “had to go poopy.” Ok. I take him into the restrooms, into the handicap stall. Since he had to poo I helped him get everything down and just as I was about to turn him and lift him onto the potty he just starts peeing. Everywhere. On the floor, down the side of the toilet. I quick try to lift him so that the remainder will go into the toilet. But I lost my balance.

This is where my test came in.

Do I drop my son and cause him to fall head first into the toilet?

Or do I fall over, with him still in my hands onto the bathroom floor with nothing to break my fall?

Want to know what I did?

Of course I didn’t drop my son. For goodness sake. Instead I fell full force onto the bathroom floor. Hitting my spine against the metal stall wall and landing on my knee on the tile floor. That would be ceramic tile in case you were wondering. You know, the really hard stuff.

And Jack was still peeing.

I guess he really had to go.

So here I am, laying on my side on the bathroom floor, Jack still in my arms, Jack still peeing and me saying a silent (quick) prayer that I’m not laying in pee. I quickly jump up (ow, my back. Ow, my knee) and lift him up just in time for him to finish peeing (yes, he’s still peeing) in the toilet. I guess he had a lot to drink. Then he still had to poop. Oy.

Slightly off topic again but still pertinent to this story… I’ve been a little sick lately. Just had something going on that caused me to lose a lot of weight really fast. This, in turn has made some bones very noticeable lately. You can see my collar bone clear as a bell, you can see the top part of my rib cage and you can see each little bump of my spine going down my back. How is this pertinent to the story you ask? Because I hit one of those boney little nubs of my spine directly, with all my remaining weight (and Jack’s), on the metal stall wall.

Yeah.

Ow.

I have a big ‘ole internal bruise on my back now that hurts whenever I lean onto something… you know, like the sofa, a chair, the bed. Fun stuff. Oh and a big ‘ole nasty bruise has popped up on the side of my knee too.

But you know what?

Jack didn’t fall.

I’d do anything for my child.