The Great Fall

Sunday night, my oldest nephew, Jorden, and his little girlfriend, Kyndall came over to our place. They were in town visiting Kyndall's aunt, I guess they were on an Aunts' house tour! Side note: Will I ever stop referring to anything JT has as "little"? Obviously, I still think of him as the little baby that was born when I was in the 4th grade. Geez!

Anyway... after the wonderful Fall Festival, I was rushing all around the house, heating up leftovers for us to eat quickly and just making sure everything was PERFECT for when they got here.

Michael was in the bathroom changing his shirt because "somebody" spilled dinner on their shirt. (Insert cute flirty smiley face here) He apparently didn't lock the brake on his wheelchair.

Big Oops.

I was in the other room making something perfect, when I hear an ever-so-normal-sounding, "Sweetheart?" Didn't even sound like anything was wrong to me! Man, am I going to be an amazing mother, ha!

I walk into the bathroom just in time to see my husband slip forward, head first, into the wall/onto the floor. It was terrible! Like it was happening in slow motion, and I was in some kind of nightmare where my arms didn't work. He hit. Deep breath. This has always been one of my biggest fears! Now what?

I positioned him off of his head and onto his booty on the floor. I squatted down, put one arm under his knees, the other under his shoulders and tried to pick him up like I've done 1,000 times. I pulled. Tugged. Mustered up as much strength as my little 5'2" self has.... NOTHING. He wasn't coming off the floor. It was dead weight.

My phone rang, it was JT in the parking lot. I commenced having a full-on, hyperventilating anxiety attack, because you know, those are always so helpful. My heart sank. The last thing in the world I wanted my nephew to see was my husband, in a pile on the bathroom floor. Like, hi, welcome to our home! But I did know that my strapping, healthy, strong, 21 year old nephew was in the parking lot and if I had to swallow my pride, I could get him to help me. Leaving my husband in a pile on the bathroom floor forever was obviously not an option.

Then, I had an idea. I got in front of Michael instead of at his side. I squatted down, grabbed the back of his jeans and I think it must have been the adrenaline but I was able to fireman-style throw him almost over my shoulder and up into the chair! Yessss. We kissed. My heart pounded out of my chest. Deep breath. Then, I went outside to meet JT and Kyndall in the parking lot.

"Hey y'all!" like nothing ever happened. Later, Michael told me I was superwoman. I am not. He likes situations like these because he says it shows me how strong I am and they bring us together. I, on the other hand, would like to just trust that. I do not need to live through these situations to teach me anything! I don't want anymore "lessons," you hear me? I can see the years of my life being shortened, haha.

All kidding aside, I see his point. And it is kind of nice to have one of those big fears behind me now, instead of hanging over me. Like, yeah, I can do this. Been there, done that.

Our unsuspecting guests: