Yesterday a part of me almost died.
I could share with you a long list of really good reasons why it was by far the most atypical day in years, but all that matters is that I forgot to bring my 16 month old in from the car during the hottest part of the day.
Ten minutes later, when I absentmindedly asked my husband "Where's the baby?" and he bolted for the garage I was lazily thinking "Wrong way, he's going to be in G's room with a Lego in his mouth."
And while I was completely aware that the door to the garage didn't immediately open and close again signaling his return it still didn't register. When he returned with our little guy, ever so slightly flushed and just a little bit warm, but totally fine, I think I went into shock.
"Why wasn't he crying? I would have heard him crying!"
"He was."
I do not know how close we came, but I do know that while yesterday the garage was just lukewarm less than a month ago it would have been unbearably hot.
I've never arrogantly claimed that I was a better parent than that. A broken routine, a small distraction... I've read the same story dozens of times with the worst possible ending always knowing it could have been me, so pay attention Heidi.
Yesterday it was me.
Any little change, a different day or one more distraction, and he wouldn't be...alive. No baby giggles and drunken milky smiles to mix with my tears.
Lucky.
