Slow Motion Playback.

This past week Liam had a terrible tumble.
A tumble makes it sound like he just sort of rolled gently to the ground and got a few cuts and scrapes.
The cuts and scrapes part is right, but, my friends - it was anything BUT a gentle tumble.
Let me replay it for you - because it has been replaying in my own mind for days now.

Last week Liam had started riding Miles' bike and it was starting to become an "issue" as only one toy between two toddler boys can.  Dustin and I decided to get another little bike we had fixed so that they would each have bikes to ride that were pretty much the exact same size.  On Tuesday I brought that bike home for Liam, and the boy has not left a bike seat since.  It doesn't matter which bike he's on - he loves to be behind the handlebars.

Fast forward to Thursday.  Both bikes have hand brakes.  Miles can use his like a champ.  Liam cannot.

Imagine me sitting in a grassy field with a handful of volunteers.  Imagine me huge and 9 months pregnant, enjoying the sound of my children playing.   Imagine Miles and Liam off to the side with an older boy they adore - the only other person they'll allow on their bikes.  Imagine Miles and this boy taking turns speeding down the slight incline of a hill toward the Main Building and giggling profusely.  Now...imagine my shock when I glance over and see my little Liam - my cautious, careful, baby Liam rolling down the incline uncontrollably toward the same building.
I was frozen.
I was immobile.
And I sat there shouting calmly "Use your brakes buddy."  like I expected him to know how.
And he just kept getting faster.
I can't get the picture of his tiny body rolling down the hill and gaining speed out of my head.

Now imagine a 9 month pregnant woman sprinting at top speed down said incline.  I'm still sore.

In the many hours and days since this happened I have played and replayed the worst-case scenarios in my head.  I have replayed the tape of his tiny body, so brave, trying to be like the big-boys, gaining speed down that hill, which his oversized aviator sunglasses perched loosely on his little nose.

It's the stuff nightmares are made of.

He didn't have a helmet on.

I'm a bad mom.

It appears the aviators ended up helping the situation.  Because although I didn't want him to hit the building head on, that's exactly what he did.  Well, that's what his face did - straight into a rough stucco wall.  The only damage was a scraped chin. 
Trust me, I know how lucky that is.  I know what could have happened.  Based on the surroundings, hitting the wall head-on was the best case scenario, (besides replacing said wall with a pile of fluffy white dove feathers.)

Because like any person strapped with guilty mother syndrome, I keep replaying the scenario, and every other heartbreaking, life-changing, horrible, could've-been scenario in my sad little head.

It's one of those moments as a mom, or as a human where you wonder - Do I really know what I'm doing?