Here I am.

Let's get in the w-a-a-a-y back machine. 1993. June I'm sure. My gorgeous son is 2 and a half years old and is spending his first night in the "big boy" bed. I wanted to keep him safe so I put a railing up to contain his bouncy little body. I kissed him and tucked him in and said all the appropriate things mommy's say to their precious babies. Then I closed his door and left him to go to sleep.

Soon thereafter he called to me.. "mommy?"
I said, through the closed door, "you stay there and go to sleep!"
seconds ticked by..
Then another quiet little "mommy."
"shhhh. Stay put!"
and again.. "but mommy."
Back and forth we went.

He never yelled, he never screamed. He just spoke quietly and calmly.

I finally got cranky and went in to get my message across in person. And there was my beautiful baby boy, hanging upside down by his pajama bottoms from the "safety" railing. Dangling head first over the precipice of his bed.

I was the worst parent on the planet at that moment. Partly because I didn't respond to his pleas for assitance - and partly because the image of him dangling there was so very funny.

I tell this story because my mom has been quietly pleading for my attention in the past week. Well - not always so quietly. But certainly just as insistantly. Today, I got quite cranky with her and hauled her up to Portland to the Doctor. The doctor immediately checked her into the hospital and said something to the affect of.. "this has been going on for how long??". Bad daughter.

I really shouldn't be allowed to take care of other living things..