How to Scare Your Mother

I thought about naming this post, "How to scare the shit out of your mother," but I had already taken care of my business before I had the scare of my life.

Every morning while getting ready I do my toilet routine.  As I walk to my bathroom, I tell the Bambino that "Mama's going to the toilet, my love," and he'll whine and follow me to the room.  I'll close the bathroom door and he'll either a) whine and cry or b) play with my unhung clothes and his toys while I do my business. 

Today, I heard him playing while I sat on the throne but heard him stop - I thought he went to another part of the room.  When I finished my business I washed my hands and walked out into the bedroom and saw that he wasn't in the room.  Hmm...that's ok because he's either in the living room or peering through his Uncle Lou's bedroom door. 

He wasn't at his uncle's door and he wasn't in the living room.

So I went back to the our bedroom to see if he was hiding on the other side of the bed.  No.

Then I went back out to the living room to see if he was hiding in one of the cabinets.  No.

I looked in my brother's room and asked if he had the Bambino.  No.

Then I looked in the kitchen to see if he was able to squeeze his way through the makeshift barricade that I create every morning with the dining room chairs.  No.

This is when I started to freak out and scream out his name.  I ran out onto the patio.  No Bambino.  I screamed his name.  No reply.  Then I started thinking, "Holy fuck is my baby choking on something and can't respond?  Or has something fallen on him and he's buried?  Where is my baby?  Where is my little Bambino?  Where is he?  Where is he?  Where.  Is.  He?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

Tears were flowing down my face, my heart was pumping a million miles per milisecond.  I just wanted to find my Bambino.  Hug him.  Kiss him.  Hoping that he's ok.  I just keep screaming his name waiting for a reply.  He usually makes a, "Da!" or "Ma!" or "Doo doo!" sound but nothing.  No sounds.  Just my screaming his name and my hyperventalating.  I'm looking in every room; opening and closing doors - going back to open the doors just in case so he can get out.

Every room except for the bathroom. 

I go back to the bathroom and find him sitting there chewing on his bath toys.  I scoop him up, hold him close to me, and just wail - then fall to the ground and just hold him.  Stroke his hair.  Kiss his head.  Rock back and forth - so thankful that he's ok.  That he's not choking on something.  That he was still in the house.  That he's in my arms and I can feel him, smell him, and look at his sweet face.  I'm not sure how he got into the bathroom after I closed the door but I'm just thankful that I was able to find him, in one piece and smiling with his bath toys in his mouth.

Next time I use the john I will either a) strap him to the swing with a bottle leaving on PBS Kids, b) put him in the crib with toys, c) ask his Uncle Lou to hang out with him, or d) just leave the bathroom door open from now on - I'd rather see him, see that he's happy playing with some toys on the bathroom floor and have my bathroom alone time interrupted.  Because that feeling, where you've almost lost hope because of the fear and anger of not knowing where your baby is, not knowing if he's ok - I don't ever want to feel that again.