Inept Babysitter No. 6: My Own Damned Self

Saturday, Ava escaped without injury, not so much as a bruise. I, however, was quite traumatized.

• While playing with her before lunch, I sat Ava on the little overpriced wooden chair we bought when Ben was a baby, the one that's so heavy it could kill a small animal when it tips over, which is all the time. So I sat her on the chair, holding her hands, her feet dangling four inches from the floor. When she signaled she wanted down, I lifted her hands up, but not enough. She came forward and so did the chair, banging her on the back of the head. She looked shocked and began to cry. Then, before I could stop it, the chair slammed into her head again.

• Before her nap, on my queen-sized bed with box spring (i.e., 3+ feet off the ground), Ava and I rolled around on the pillows. I kept my eyes and hands on her the whole time. Then she moved just out of reach, sat up and fell backwards off the side, landing on her head in a pathetic pile between Brian’s nightstand and the bed.

• After her nap, I took her out back, where the boys, Brian and I had been playing soccer. Ava was sitting on the grass, and I was standing 6 feet away from her, at most. When I noticed the soccer ball at my feet, I kicked it. Square into her face. Really hard.

Did I mention it was Ben’s new soccer ball, and it’s not at all cushy like a child’s soccer ball? It’s very hard, like a real soccer ball. Brian stared at me in disbelief. “What were you thinking?” he asked. Everything got all surreal and I started crying, because I’d hurt her again but also because I feared I'd lost my mind. What the hell was I thinking? Nothing, apparently.

The boys, to their credit, kept their laughter under wraps.

I made Brian swear not to tell anyone what I'd done (and not to leave me alone with the baby). Then I immediately went inside, called my mother and sister-in-law, and told them everything. And, for some reason, I'm telling the Internet. I have no aim, and no shame.

So far, since The Day I Kept Hurting Ava, things have gone better. Perhaps I was just a little tired. Or as my sister-in-law suggested, maybe I’ve hit menopause. (Why do I even call her when I’m upset?)

Every time I think about the Soccer Ball Incident, I let out this little, uncontrollable laugh. It was just that absurd. If could have, I would have fired myself on the spot.