There are things I don’t expect to have to do while I am sitting on the toilet trying not to throw up, while a baby kicks me in the internal organs.
Catching my son as he rides his tricycle backwards at full speed, down the toilet step, tipping his bike over with him underneath it and sending him hurtling towards the concrete.
More than five years of parenting has honed my reflexes and I managed to catch his arm and drag him upright before his skull connected with the cement*.
Sure, I also hit him in the cheek with his handlebars, but saving your boy from a fractured skull is definitely the way to feel like you’re nailing this mothering gig.
Now, if I could just get him to wear a helmet, this whole thing would be easier.
For the record, we have about an acre of grass for bike riding, making helmets pretty unneccesary, but Isaac likes the one concrete pathway between the house and toilet. OF COURSE HE DOES. Also, he hates helmets. Take it up with him, not me.