My poor baby is sick. Little Cordelia has her first real bout of sickness (she’s almost two, so I can’t complain). 40 degree fever, listlessness, and generally feeling unwell. So yesterday, while cleaning the basement for a showing, I had to carry her around.

In a completely unrelated story, I installed hand rails for the basement stairs.

In a third completely unrelated story, I wear slippers when in the basement. The ceramic tile down there is quite chilly on the feet.

And while the three stories are unrelated, they came together yesterday. I decided against using the handrail because my hands were full with baby (toddler?). Yet I chose to wear my slippers up said stairs.

Slippers are a funny thing. You can spend a lifetime of happiness together, but the moment you turn your back, they turn on you. Or in this case, trip you. At the top stair. With a sick baby in your arms.

Must. Protect. Baby.

Falling. Caught myself, fell again, caught myself, use knee to stop descent (the cracking sound is knee on tread). Protect baby and continue falling. Wait, that wasn’t so bad… I think I stopped — crap!

Then I hit the stringer and did a flip around (reminiscent of Paige’s fall of 06 where she did a full 180 in the air).

Must. Protect. Baby.

At this point, she’s screaming (my descent has taken about 2 seconds…which for a fall, is a long time). Then I flip and smack into the ceramic. Luckily, my faster than cat-like reflexes allow me to absorb the blow…with my elbow. On ceramic. Nice.

And yet Cordy is safely nested in the arm like a football with a pile-on, screaming her head off. I think I’ve broken my sick baby, but when she sees the blood on the ceramic, she stops crying. My elbow — well, it’s fine. Unbelievably. How I didn’t break it or the ceramic tile is beyond me.

But what’s the morale of this story? If your kids are complaining or crying, try showing them your blood. Quiets them right up.