Yesterday evening I was bringing some groceries in the front door. I have a usual routine of bringing them up to the porch from the car, then from the porch to the foyer, then from the foyer up the stairs to the kitchen. It's the staging process that works best with my toddler. I'm not sure why I was doing my staging process, though, since Billy was in the living room with Daddy, so there was no real reason other than habit.
Well, I had Buddy with me too. And I couldn't get Buddy out of the car. I was whining and crying and refusing to get out. Long story short... apparently we have an electric fence in the front yard too. Who knew? Buddy did! It was shocking him because the car was too close to the line. Poor guy.
Well, all of the hubbub got Daddy interested in the fiasco at the front door. He came downstairs to investigate (and thus determine that we really do have a fence in the front yard too- again, who knew?)
But wait! What about Billy?
We're doing stairs training. So, he knows to wait at the top of the stairs, even if the gate is open. It's a work in progress, but he waits patiently at the top of the steps while I carry things in the house- usually. And, he was waiting at the top of the steps with me at the bottom with groceries and Daddy outside with Buddy.
Yeah, that was while Buddy was outside.
But in the mayhem of Buddy and Daddy walking in the door and closing it, Billy decided to join the party in the foyer. Normally, not a problem. He can do stairs. I make him do the steps every single day and he's fairly proficient at going up and down. In shoes. Or bare feet.
Billy wasn't in shoes. He didn't have bare feet. Socks. Socks! The dreaded socks! (I think you know where I'm going with this.) I don't let him run around in socks because a.) it's summer and b.) it's a fall hazard for a toddler.
A fall hazard? Really?
And whoop! His feet went out from under him on the very top step. Crash! Bang! I saw it all happen in slow motion. And my reaction seemed to be in slow motion too, although I am sure I was quick to react. By the third step I had my baby stopped and scooped up. But that was still three steps downhill at breakneck speed.
Luckily, he didn't break his neck. Or anything else. Not even a big bump. He screamed and cried. And I don't blame him one bit. It's scary. I know.
Allow me to tell you a quick story:
I think I was four, but I was young regardless. I was at a party with my parents at one of their friends' houses. I was all dressed up for the party, with black party shoes on and cute little party dress. I think it was holiday time, but you'd have to ask my parents- I just remember it being cold out. Grandpop was talking with friends by the stairs and I was with him. Those stairs were so inviting, all covered in carpet. I went up them. Then I fell down them in a whoosh of feet over head over feet over head. I'm still nervous about going up stairs in party shoes. That stuff stays with you.
So yes, I know the dangers of stairs. But, at the same time, he's got to learn to safely go up and down those friggin stairs. It's not like I can carry him up and down for the rest of his life. Me at 50 carrying my college student up and down steps? Um, no.
I just hope for no more falls.