“Your son’s x-ray has returned. Unfortunately, it appears he has a fractured skull.” The doctor’s statement shouldn’t have shocked me—my little boy’s head was swelling like a balloon, and it was clear something was seriously wrong. As I gazed at the thin line on the x-ray that represented my baby’s injury, a wave of nausea washed over me.
This was my fault. I had dropped my son.
It was just another average day, filled with the usual mess of diapers, adorable baby giggles, and an abundance of goldfish crackers. But while I rushed to the bathroom to clean my 1-year-old’s hands of dead ladybug guts, disaster struck. My baby, who had been comfortably resting on my hip, suddenly morphed into a mini acrobat. Before I knew it, he was tumbling backward, twisting through the air before hitting the ground with a horrifying thud. His piercing scream filled the apartment, and dread settled in my stomach.
That night was spent huddled on a narrow hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of heart-rate monitors echoing in my ears. Beside me lay my little one, swaddled in a yellow gown with a misshaped skull. I couldn’t bear to close my eyes; I had to keep watching him. Guilt washed over me in waves.
I felt like the worst mother in the world. I deserved to be labeled “a bad mom.” I was supposed to protect my son, and I had failed him.
However, as I lay there, listening to the sounds of the emergency room—the crying baby next door who hadn’t eaten in 24 hours, the boy across the hall in need of a blood transfusion, and the feverish toddler in a daze—I began to realize that this incident didn’t define my worth as a mother. Accidents happen; they are simply part of life.
We often heap blame upon ourselves, filled with mom guilt. Why didn’t we see this coming? What could we have done differently? But one-off accidents don’t make us “bad” parents. If they did, there would be no “good” parents left standing.
During our short hospital stay, the staff reassured us that these kinds of incidents are more common than one might think. I braced myself for judgment from the nurses, expecting a lecture about how I should have held him firmer or been more attentive—all the things I had already been berating myself for. But when I broke down in front of a nurse, she simply smiled and said, “It happens. I dropped my daughter when she was just a couple of months old… onto concrete.”
It happens. While not the most comforting words, it was somewhat reassuring to know that I wasn’t alone in this experience.
Parenting is a journey of learning, full of both ups and downs. No matter how hard we try, we cannot shield our children from every harm. Illness and injuries are an inevitable part of growing up. In these moments, we face a choice: we can drown in guilt over what might have been or choose to view it as a stark reminder of life’s fragility. These experiences teach us not to take each moment for granted, urging us to cherish every hug, every smile, and every laugh.
Parenting is filled with instances where we wish we could have held our kids a little closer or watched them a little more attentively. There will always be days we wish we could rewind; nights where we cry ourselves to sleep, feeling like we’ve failed.
But don’t be too hard on yourself. Remember, just because you feel like a bad mother doesn’t mean it’s true.
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In summary, accidents can happen to any parent, and feeling guilty doesn’t define your parenting abilities. Embrace the journey, learn from the mishaps, and remember to cherish every moment.