Dropping

It's every parent's worst nightmare, you know.

One minute you're cradling your newborn, cooing at him or her, feeling the angelic little life pulsate in you arms. Your newborn might swing from quiet restive reveries to violent possessed tantrums, but you never complain. And the next, inexplicably, your grip slips, and time... slows...

I felt like that. Exactly like that.

When I dropped her, and heard the smack as her fragile frame bounced off the ground, my heart just broke. I expected her to cry, or make some sound at least, afterwards, but she didn't, and there were these sickening waves of fear that just kept surging within me. It was like... like... she was stunned, or had suffered brain damage, or something...

And seriously, who can tell if she will ever be the same? All I know is that I'll carry the guilt for a long time more to come, this eternal self-reproachfulness.

(An hour later: I think I need a hobby. After careful consideration, it's not healthy to be so attached to a handphone)