This morning at precisely 7:48 AM, Beardy Jazz and I were sound asleep in our beds. Which is unusual, because of the toddler who wakes before 7, but that’s okay. Anyway, we were angelically sleeping when suddenly.
CRASH. HUGE CRASH. SOUND OF GLASS SHATTERING. MORE CRASH. SILENCE.
We lept out of bed faster than lightning, both of our thoughts turned immediately to our medium sized baby in her crib. “Isabelle!” we yelled. “Izzie! We are coming!” Half asleep and confused, we ran like we have never run before. I ran so lick-ity-split, I forgot to slow down a bit to round a corner, and consequently, fell to my bottom. Like a professional tag team, Jazz sprinted ahead into our nursery, skidding to a stop in front of the crib, eyes searching for her. Isabelle was there- fast asleep, curled in a ball with Olivia squished underneath her.
I yell (from the floor) “WHERE IS SHE? IS SHE OK?”
Jazz relays to me that she is fine. She is more than fine, she is excellent and asleep.
Which is weird, on account of all the ruckus that we heard seven seconds prior. We return to the living room, examine the TV- still standing. Bookshelves- still standing. Windows and doors- closed firmly and intact.
And then I see it. My beautiful fireplace mantle mirror. Smashed into a zillion pieces on the floor. Glass and mirror shards everywhere. Votive candle chunks strewn about the carpet. I am high on adrenaline so it takes me a minute to realize what has happened.
I crawl from my spot on the floor over to the couch, where I lay horizontally to fully wake up and process the events of our morning. Jazz is rolling on the floor, whining about his ankle which he has re injured in the Fight to Baby.
Suddenly, a vision comes to me. Isabelle wakes up at her normal 6:45. She has her juice. I sit on the floor with her blocks. She plays skip to maloo. On her stage. On the fireplace. 7:48 arrives. The mirror crashes to the tile. Disaster. Trauma.
I bring my shaky hands together and very much out loud thank my Heavenly Father for the series of morning events that were loud and disruptive and messy and totally injury-free. I thank Him for my sweet hazel baby asleep in her crib with her doll that smells like vomit. Amen.
Later, I wash Olivia.
I am also crushed, because this mirror was so perfect for our mantle. It was the first item of anything that we bought specifically for our first official home. Maybe because it was from craigslist, or because me and mom lovingly spray painted it into oblivion- (mostly mom) it felt so much like mine. I just knew it would survive forever and I’d move it around and use it for all different kind of occasions. We hung it so carefully with 50 pound wire and safety screws, and I was pleased as punch with how it looked all finished. A little sad now. Mostly not though. So much for 50 pound wire- snapped clean in half.
I figure since the mirror broke in approximately 95 pieces, I’ll have something like 665 years of bad luck to follow. Though after this morning, it’s hard to feel superstitious at all.