Broken Glass

There's a three-inch chunk of glass sitting on the window sill above my kitchen sink. It's sharp and jagged and could really hurt someone badly. I put it there earlier today after Greta handed it to me. Yes, after my 16 month-old daughter handed it to me. That's what I said.

I went upstairs to grab Henry from his morning nap, and I left Greta downstairs. Momentarily. 

We babyproofed our house the best we knew how, so we thought. As I was getting Henry, I heard glass shattering. I left Henry in his playpen and shot downstairs so fast (but it seemed so slow motion at the time). There was Greta with the piece of glass in her little hand.

No blood. 
No cuts.

Holy shit, my heart stopped beating, I think.
She was okay.

I had left my glass of soda on the kitchen desk. Somehow, she reached it and knocked it over. There was glass all over the kitchen floor. Big pieces and small chards. EVERY where.

Prior to this "incident," I had high hopes to spend the afternoon outside to enjoy the sun. Instead, I spent the afternoon sweeping and vacuuming and sweeping again and vacuuming again. And wiping and mopping. The babies stayed in playpens while I frantically cleaned. They didn't complain (much!), and neither did I. Sure, I wanted to be outside breathing in fresh Autumn air, but at the moment, I was glad to be cleaning up a mess instead of having Greta's hand stitched at the local Urgent Care. I meticulously cleaned the floor. Meanwhile, I praised God and anyone else who could hear my thoughts. What a close call. I can't stop thinking about it.

I'm the type of person who thinks of all the what-ifs; I've crawled on the floor myself, just to get down on Greta's level to see the world from her perspective. I've locked cabinets and gated stairs and guarded windows. I'm not saying I'm perfect, because I'm not. It's just that -- well -- this is my first real scary incident where I've been forced to realize that as much as I can try, I can't always protect Greta. I don't like feeling helpless. And I keep playing in my mind, how bad it could have been. I'm trying to not lecture myself or beat myself up mentally, but it's hard not to. 
There's a three-inch chunk of glass sitting on the window sill above my kitchen sink. 

And I'm not sure when I'll throw it away. I might just keep it there for the month as a reminder. So blessed. So thankful. So grateful. So relieved. It could have been so worse. She didn't have a scratch or cut on her. I can't stop saying THANK YOU, GOD.