"But I've Told Her A Hundred Times..."

Broken snowglobe

After daycare Babe and I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. Due to a naughty moment in the car she knew a toy was going in the Disappearing Box when we got home so she was her very best Big Girl Helper in the store; trying to rescue her toy from a week of hibernation up high.

We are always rushed at the end of the day - going from work to errands and home to play, make dinner and do the bedtime routine - all before 7:30.

Babe tried her best to carry a bag in from the car - without being asked. But it was too heavy and after a few stumbles in the parkade she let me carry it in.

I try to get her to watch TV while I cook dinner because I know it's not safe for her to be prancing around the hot pots and pans in the kitchen. It never works though because Babe has too much energy to sit for long in front of the TV. And by the end of the day she is just desperate for my attention. So dinner time is usually a juggling act for me. There's no extra set of hands or eyes. No one who can keep her entertained while the other parent gets dinner on.

She took off her jeans because they were uncomfortable. I asked her if she wanted me to get her a pair of cozy pants but I don't think she responded. She was playing on the floor just outside the kitchen and we were chatting as I cooked.

She went to the bathroom on her own and peed on the grown up potty without help which made her proud. That's a new thing since she saw a little friend do it while they were visiting...until recently she's always used her little potty.

When she was done I asked again if she wanted cozy pants. Nothing.

I was still cooking.

I saw her fold up her bathroom stool and take it into her bedroom.

I heard her say she needed it to reach the lightswitch in her bedroom.

She pinched her fingers hard in that stool just the other day so I had a faint flash of concern that it might happen again.

She called to me from the bedroom in her growly frustrated voice because the light wasn't turning on.

It's a wall-mounted light that plugs into a socket which is controlled by the lightswitch at the doorway. But it also has a switch on the cord. Her sound machine is also plugged into the same outlet. So at night when I leave her room after tucking her in I turn the light off at the cord so the lightswitch at the wall doesn't kill the sound machine.

Usually I turn it back on in the morning but I guess I didn't this morning. So Babe couldn't figure out why flicking the lightswitch by the bedroom door wasn't working.

She was calling out, "The batteries are dead."

I put down my spatula and said "No Honey, they aren't". I went into the room and hit the switch on the cord which runs like a seam from the wall light down the wall and behind the dresser to a hidden plug. Then I went around the corner back to my cooking.

Maybe ten seconds passed.

I'm sure one of two things were going through her mind before she forgot my many, many warnings:

Her interest may have been piqued by my coming in and switching the light on at the cord, maybe she was drawn to that switch that she hadn't noticed before.

Or more likely her mind simply wandered back to my question moments before about cozy pants.

But she was still on the little stool at the lightswitch as I walked past her and back to the kitchen.

I've told her a hundred times. Over and over...

I'd only been out of the room for a few seconds.

There was a loud crash. It sounded like she'd broken her whole room in one second. Before I heard her scream I already knew exactly what it was and my stomach had already sunk.

She was screaming as I rounded the corner and into her room. I couldn't get there fast enough.

And there was my little girl buried under her heavy dresser.

She was pinned from her mid section down under the tipped frame, the three drawers and a ton of clothing. There was broken glass and sparkles in the rug from her Las Vegas snow globe.

It only took a second to get her out and into my arms but she cried in heaving sobs in my lap for a couple minutes before I could calm her just enough to really look her over. I knew she wasn't bleeding but in those moments I didn't know if there'd be a broken bone. Honestly, I didn't even care, I was just so thankful she was OK.

That dresser is so heavy. It could have been so much worse.

I had her furniture braced to the wall in our old place. I've been reminding myself over and over and over to get the guy in to do it at this place. There's not much that is tippy here anyway, just a couple of items. It's just one of those things that gets pushed down the list because everything else seems more pressing and I'm doing it all myself.

And I've told her a hundred times to never, ever open more than one drawer at a time or climb up on any furniture. I've explained, slightly graphically, what could happen if she tips heavy furniture over onto herself.

But I nannied for years so I know not to expect a three-year-old to remember any warnings. I guess part of me thought since I regularly reminded her that she would somehow remember in that split second when something catches her attention.

And Babe is usually so careful...

Someone said, "Don't blame yourself. Accidents happen".

But you know what? Ya, it was an accident. It was in the blink of an eye, it was just a stupid mistake. But it is my fault. It was negligent. It's not like I didn't know parents should brace the furniture. I know. I've known for years. I've reminded other parents to do it long before I had Babe. I kept reminding myself to do it since we moved and kept forgetting and reminding myself and forgetting. That little voice inside was telling me to get it done.

For crying out loud I just read another story about a child who was killed this way, like a week ago.

It's amazing how fast things can happen when we are juggling too many things and trusting our babies just a little too much.

Babe is perfectly fine. But when I think of what could've happened I feel sick and the tears come on.

I'm sending all my love to whatever angel was watching over my little one as her attention innocently turned to the dresser in her room.




Please anchor your furniture if your wee ones are exploring now.

Even if they are a bit older and you've told them a hundred times...

Even if they are usually so careful.