It finally happened (and it sucked)

There are very few certainties that come along with having a baby, but one is that you WILL, at some point, drop her.

I've known this day was coming. I felt mentally prepared. I promised I wouldn't beat myself up.

And then it happened.

TERRIBLE MOTHER ALERT.

This past Sunday, I set Ava on my (very large, king-size) bed. Every morning, she sits there and plays with toys while I do my hair and makeup. I'm only about three feet away from her and I look up at her roughly every five seconds.

Well, apparently, in only a five-second window, homegirl can suddenly scoot away from the dead center of the bed and throw herself onto the floor.

It happened so fast. I had just done my visual check-in, turned to my mirror and quickly applied my concealer. No sooner had I done two brush strokes than I heard it happen.

Thud.

I snapped around and saw an empty bed. Cue the scream -- hers, not mine. (Though I was close.)

I flew out of my chair and saw her on the floor. She was sitting up but hunched over, face beet-red and tears flowing fast. I scooped her up and said a million curse words. Soothingly, of course. No need to freak her out any more than she already was.

"Lisa... What was that?"

Oh, right, Dave would need to know about this.

"NOTHING," I yelled downstairs.

"Lisa." He was starting to come up.

"I don't want to tell you! Everything's fine! We're fine!" I said.

"Did you drop her?"

"NO," I said. Technically true, but I knew I couldn't lie. "She... rolled..."

Dave knew I felt bad enough, so he waited a few hours before ridiculing me for being the first one to drop our baby. She's fine, of course, but I'm still a little traumatized.