My baby. My sweet angel baby,

No one ever told me that becoming a mother means resigning yourself to a life of guilt. From the day you find out you're pregnant, you start to feel guilty.
"I shouldn't have had that glass of wine three weeks ago."

As your pregnancy progresses, you find more reasons to feel guilty.
"If only I'd remembered to take my multivitamins every day, he'd be healthier."

And then they're born and the opportunity to make bad decisions just multiplies.
"Maybe if I hadn't started him on solids when I did, he wouldn't have this wheat allergy."

And when they start moving, oh boy the chance for regret and guilt just skyrockets. (For proof just look at this post.)

After this weekend, I am absolutely riddled with guilt and can not suppress the feeling that I am the most inept and horrible mother ever.

We went to Ottawa for a four day vacation. The first two were wonderful and filled with reunions with our closest friends. Then, on the third day, Hayden and I were playing outside before we went out for breakfast. He kept splashing in our friend's dog water dish and I kept dragging him away and trying to get him interested in the birds and flowers. He ran back and picked up the dish, about to pour it all over himself. So I grabbed it to tug it out of his hands before he soaked himself in dog drool. When I yanked it from his grasp, he squealed and I assumed it was a tantrum. Then I looked down to see his hand covered in blood. Little did I know, the protective rubber seal that normally covered the handle he was holding was gone, leaving a sharp metal edge. When I'd pulled that dish from his hands, I'd actually pulled that sharp metal edge into his fingers. The guilt immediately rose like bile in my throat.

I ran inside with him, my grasp putting pressure on his heavily bleeding fingers. I ran them quickly under cool water and he screamed out in agony. When I opened his fingers to assess the damage, my heart flipped and my eyes instantly welled up. His middle finger had a deep gash on the first finger pad (closest to the palm) and it continued up and in past his first joint. It looked deep and angry and not something I could fix. Beside it, his other finger had a deep gash to the pad. With the help of our dear friends (and please guys - I hope you know that we don't at all even remotely think you are the least bit responsible) we bandaged up his hands and headed to CHEO (the local children's hospital). 11 hours, a conscious sedation (horrible to watch), a whole lot of blood, a horrible doctor, and five sketchy stitches later, we hobbled back to Adam's uncle's house.

I was hoping that tonight it would start looking a little better, but when we changed over the dressing, the biggest wound has turned black...not a good sign. We're going to see his doctor tomorrow and she's referring us to a pediatric plastic surgeon to make sure his little hands will work perfectly.

The guilt continues to overwhelm me whenever I think about it, if I try to sleep, when I see his little hand or hear him cry when it touches against something. The reasonable part of my brain tells me it was an accident and I couldn't have foreseen the result of my actions. But the deeper, darker part of me is needling my heart, asking again and again how I could hurt my own child this way. Snidely reminding me that if I had a little more patience, maybe I wouldn't have pulled so hard and Hayden would be fine; That all three times Hayden has been really hurt in his short 20 months of life, it's been under my watch; That I am one horrible mother. I can't stop thinking it. I can't stop blaming myself. And the thought that he might need more surgery or have more trauma twists my stomach until I gag on the guilt.

Every mother I tell this to tells me that this won't be the last time. That there will be many times in my life that Hayden will hurt himself and I'll relive the moment forever and think "if only I'd..." or "If I had just..."

I never would have believed that I would have three such moments before my baby's second birthday.

Say a prayer or think good thoughts...My gut tells me we're not through the worst of it yet.