When we picked Gillian up from school today, the first thing she said was, "Mom, did you throw Asher down the stairs at baby school today?"
So here's that story:
Last Tuesday Mom and I were at baby school and it was time to go downstairs to the big room for gross motor play. You know, lots of big balls to throw and kick around, scooters to surf on, trampolines to dance on--general awesomeness. Normally I walk down the stairs, but Mom was carrying me because I had been insisting on "booping" down the stairs on my butt and was taking too long. I was only taking too long because I wanted her to boop with me, but she wasn't playing along.
Anyway, halfway down the stairs, Mom lost her footing (maybe due to me being squirmy, but that's not an important detail), and slid down a couple steps. In the process of trying to grab the handrail and not throw me down the stairs, her foot folded under her and crunched. I'm pretty sure at that point Mom knew something was wrong, but she didn't want me to miss my play time, so we went to the big room and threw around balls, all the while with her foot swelling up in her shoe.
Now there are not a lot of things that keep Mom down, but when we got home that day she sat down on the couch with an icepack and pretty much didn't move the rest of the day. The next day Dad didn't go to work and we had another adventure at the hospital where I got to spread my awesomeness around even more and then have a huge tantrum in the middle of the hallway. (I wanted to throw my Cheerios on the ground and then eat them like a dog, but Dad wouldn't let me, and there was only one x-ray tech working so it was taking forever.)
Never fear, Mom's foot was not broken, but a week later she still isn't moving much, so we'll see how that one turns out. Take away from the story? Mom saved me from being thrown down the stairs even though she was the one who almost did the throwing.