Or, more accurately, the cat hole. You see, we have this little hole cut in the basement door to provide the cats with unmitigated access to their litter box, while keeping our adventurous toddler at bay. The basement stairs, they are unfinished you see. They are the builder's stairs, hard and wooden with but a bit of carpet rolled down the center.
As Jack is unable to access the basement area without assistance, he has discovered that he can still explore the basement by living vicariously through the toys that he shoves through the cat hole. Onto the Stairs.
Today, one such toy - a truck to be exact - was hiding in the shade of one of the steps near the top. With Toby tucked into my arms, I stepped blithely onto the Staircase of Doom, unaware of the fate that was about to befall me.
Surely as a bear relieves himself in the woods, my foot found that tiny toy truck... and down I went. Feet flying comically (and yet not at all comical) out from under me, I landed flat on my back on the stairs.
Maternal Instincts combined with Superhuman Speed and I managed to cling for dear life to the precious bundle in my arms.
Apparently my superpowers do not extend to a resiliently bouncy body, though. With several loud cracks and a few muffled thumps, various parts of my anatomy were bruised and battered. One wooden stair cracked me upside the head. I'm fairly certain my backside is currently a mottled shade of purple and blue. I need a jumbo sized bottle of Ibuprofen.
But Toby is okay, angry red scratch on his cheek notwithstanding.
And Jack and I had a little talk about putting toys down the cat hole. He listened with rapt attention, then pointed out to me that, whilst I was engaged in my losing battle with gravity, he had opened the new air filter I purchased yesterday and turned it into Pop Art. That will teach me to pay extra for the nicer filter.
Anyone know of a nice band of wandering gypsies interested in purchasing a gently-used toddler?
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