She heard the familiar squealing of her baby, returned by the squeals of her oldest. She knew she would have to get up soon. She heard her oldest ask: “May I change Pickle’s diaper?” (Yes, she really calls her Pickle). She managed to give her a thumbs up.
About 25 seconds later she heard the thump, followed by the screaming, followed by the horrified intake of breath. She leaped out of bed and found the baby face up on the hardwood floor. She pushed her daughter away, grabbed the baby and felt for blood, a bump, anything that needed medical attention. She put her to her breast and hoped she was ok.
Her husband dismissed her oldest to her room and she quickly heard a new sob from a different daughter, through the door. After she nursed, she asked her husband: “Do I need to get an x-ray? If she had cracked her skull surely she would be unconscious or still crying or swelling or something right? She’s ok right?” He said; “She’s fine.”
Once all parties had calmed down she called her oldest daughter in. She had the baby talk to her (as she often does-and everyone seems to love it): “Hey Phoebz! Next time I’m gonna do my rolly trick will you PLEASE make sure I have my helmet on! Sheesh–I could have died!” And the sisters hugged and forgave and got through that first trial of their friendship.
She was glad that was over. And that everyone lived to tell about it.