Where things became unusual was the loud, sustained crash, and Patrick's cries rising to a hefty scream.
Being the concerned parent that I am ... with visions of his changing table collapsed on top of him, I rushed to their aid.
"What was that?" I cried.
Jennifer, weakly replied, "I fell down the stairs." With Patrick screaming at the top of his lungs, I think I actually asked her to repeat what she said.
I found my wife sitting, with her legs out and my son in her arms, at the bottom of the stairs. Asking if she and Patrick were OK was mixed into confused questioning about what happened.
Somehow, her feet went out from under her (we suspect a couple of the leaves that Patrick likes to play with were on the steps). While my real concern was in protecting my son, she could managed to truly hurt herself. From what I could see, hear, and feel ... they both seemed to be alright; maybe a bit scared (go Jen ... quite a save).
I got Patrick some juice to drink ... getting irritated over the smallest things ... then, tracked down some pain medication for Jen, knowing later on in the day, her bumps and bruises will carry more weight.
The fear I felt translated itself into anger ... not at anyone in particular (OK, I might have directed some of it at Jen, but she knows I've had a long week ... more than just time ... and she knows I love her).
So, here I sit, getting this out so that maybe I can salvage a few minutes of sleep tonight ... gotta' run and apologize to my amazing wife for raising my voice after her accident.
Good night.
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