No Jimmy, don't...

This is one of the last road trip related posts that I mentioned in Part 6. This is not an easy post for me to publish. Just typing it up, from what I wrote at the time, has brought back all the emotions I felt that day. I don't want to share the following story. I want to forget that the following ever took place, but I can't and that's probably a good thing, because remembering will keep me focused and mindful of where Jimmy is no matter how many other family members are around, no matter how many eyes can look at him.

So, I am sharing this learning experience, because it is part of my journey as a mother. The emotions I experienced are experienced by mothers all over the world, including my own mum (aka Granny), so that's another reason to share this experience... Not that any of this makes it easier to share... Well, here it is...

There are 3 phrases I repeat over and over during the day. These phrases are:

• I love you Jimmy-bubba
• Good boy Jimmy
• No Jimmy, don't... 

I don't like saying the last one, but I say it. I say it a lot some days. I don't like saying it, but sometimes I have to. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to say it, because Jimmy should know by now that he shouldn't do the thing I'm telling him not to do or that he isn't allowed to do it. But on the Sunday we had at Goose Island, Day 12 of our road trip, I said those words and my heart stopped.

My heart stopped and I anticipated the crying, the running into the Mississippi, followed by a trip to the ER and burns unit... the scars... the guilt... the constant, everlasting guilt...

The constant guilt that our parenting style and confidence in Jimmy had allowed him the space to go from playing with an empty pot and cup to investigating the fire pit. Unnoticed, unsupervised, unhindered.

I had only just checked on him. Turned my back, focused on what I was doing for a minute or two before something made me turn around and look for my little boy. And there he was, barefoot at the firepit with one hand on the old metal wheel and the other holding a big stick, poking around in the coals.

"No Jimmy, don't..."

The words came out, my heart stopped, and Jimmy just gave me a look that said "What? Nothing's wrong, I'm just investigating this thing, that all of you spend so much time looking at and poking. What's not ok?"

Luckily it had been a few hours since there had been an active fire. Luckily the old truck wheel, used to contain the fire, was cold. Luckily I turned around when I did, before Jimmy had tried to handle the ashes and hot coals... Oh so lucky...

No crying, no ER, only a shaken mum and a little boy wondering why his mummy was so upset that he had been investigating...

I'm filing the experience under: Parenthood, learning, lucky...