in which I fall down the stairs

Last Sunday, Easter Sunday, I woke up with a terrible crick in my neck. It hurt so bad that I actually woke up screaming because I had tried to roll over in my sleep. That was apparently a bad idea, and Kevin was terrified that I was paralyzed or something, because we were both sleepy and I was screaming but not able to move.

After I got myself out of bed and up and about and we did the Easter morning thing, we started to get ready for church. My neck still hurt a ton, and I was overcompensating for not having a full range of motion. I saw Connor's shoes on the floor next to the diaper changing table, at the top of the stairs. I reached over and grabbed them, and then stood up to grab the handrail and go downstairs. Only, because of my neck, I never really caught my balance and ended up falling down the stairs.

The rug burns have mostly healed, but the bruises are still yellow and brown (which is an improvement from their previous colors).

Connor saw it happen, and although I tried to explain to him that falling down stairs hurts a bunch and that this is why I always tell him to be careful on the stairs, he seems to be under the impression that I was demonstrating some sort of Extreme Stair Descent Sport that was hertofore unknown to him. I have caught him sliding down the stairs on his butt this week a few times, jumping the last few stairs, and actually comtemplating going down the stairs on his belly head first.

We had gotten lax about closing the gate at the top of the stairs recently, as Connor had long ago mastered the art of going down the stairs properly, and Lex is not yet mobile, but Connor is getting too creative and brave for his own good, so again we must shut it regularly.