Ouch!

So today the timer goes off in my kitchen telling me that dinner is ready. Now if you are a frequent reader here you will remember that Max loves to climb on/in things. He especially loves the dishwasher, when he hears that thing open he comes a runnin', and always tries to climb inside it. Considering this behavior you can understand why I might have some concern when opening the oven as this is also a fascinating appliance to my Max.

So like I said the timer goes off and I go to retrieve the dinner, with Max close at my heels. Usually when opening the 400 degree oven I put Max in his high chair or call on dad to run interference, but I can smell that dinner is already getting a bit crispy so I strategically block the kid with my body and swiftly open the oven and extract the two baking sheets that have our dinner on them, and set them on the stove top. Then while constantly shifting my weight so as to keep him off guard I shut the oven door and feel relieved that I was able to keep my baby from climbing in my oven one more time. That is when I realized only seconds too late that I had made a horrible miscalculation in my keep baby from burning plan. You see tonight I had two pans in the oven instead of one and so I had to arrange them side by side on the stove top, and I was so busy with my tricky baby blocking oven retrieval that I didn't notice that the pans were both rather close to edge of the stove. To my horror I watched as if in slow motion as Max reached his little hand up and grabbed the edge of the hot baking sheet. Well you can imagine that my hands were only milliseconds behind and without even consulting my brain they grabbed that now screaming baby, and shoved his whole arm under the faucet that was running cold water. Then my brain started to catch up, my thought process was something like this...

Baby screaming...
baby hurt...
life threatening?...
no.
Ok mommy freak out mode lessening slightly...
Permanent damage?...
ER trip warranted?...
Inspect...
No. Big sigh of relief.
Baby still screaming...
Baby still hurt (and mad because now his arm and sleeve are soaked)...
Pan too close to the edge...
MY FAULT!

And then it sets in like a train wreck, the mommy guilt. Oh I feel so bad for my little guy. Seriously how could I let this happen? Shane comes to see what all of the hollering is about. He helps me comfort Max and comforts me a bit too. Showing me that Max's hand is fine. And really he is fine, although seriously upset.

Later I started to think about it. I felt so bad. I thought about another time I had a scare with Mason when he was a little bit older than Max is now. Its actually a pretty funny story that starts with me going to my doctor's office, and ends with me hurriedly wiping ultrasound gel off my pregnant belly while the nurse calls poison control. Everything turned out fine, but that night feeling completely wretched about it I relayed the story to friends. One of them told me something her mother told her about taking care of her six children when they were all very young. She said that when her kids were all small she just tried to make it through the day the best she could, and any day that ended without having to call poison control was a good day. It was funny and it made me feel better.

And tonight as my boys slept safe and cared for in their beds, I thought that poison control, and ER days do happen, and they are miserable, but most days in my kids' lives are not those days. How many good days, great days do we not give ourselves credit for. Seriously we read stories, we go to the zoo, we teach them to share, and to the very best of our ability we keep them safe. Really I think we're doing pretty good, and I think women out there need to band together and give mommy guilt a run for its money. Today lets give ourselves a break, because nobody's perfect, and give ourselves some credit for the good days.