Statistics?

So I recently finished a Statistics class on my journey to becoming a teacher. As far as I am aware, my grade still has not been posted and I can expect it to be posted at some point within the next couple of weeks. But that's a little beside the point. In the process of being over worked, over stressed, and feeling like motherhood was just another inconvenience in my life, I began to wonder what kind of statistic I was becoming. Mind you, I didn't actually do any research into how many mothers have two children, a part-time job that occasionally takes up the time of a full time job, maintain status as a full time student, and an unemployed husband. But I did spend a little time wondering about it. Then my youngest son, R, had something happen to him that made me realize that I don't live a life that can be defined by statistics.

A month and two days ago, R, who will be a year old late this month, was taking a nap in his pack and play in the play room. I wasn't worried about doing some dishes and watching a movie with my husband because I have a monitor in the playroom to help keep track of what the kids are doing when I can't actually be in there playing with them. But about an hour into his nap he started crying. Again, I wasn't overly concerned because he frequently cries a little in his sleep for reasons unbeknownst to me. But his crying didn't stop and started to get more intense, so my first reaction was to check the video monitor that I have in the boys' bedroom to make sure that my oldest was still in bed napping. Everything was as it should be, so I went to pick up R and see if he just needed some brief comforting before being layed back down.

Yes, I am dragging this story out a little, but the process that I went through that day was painfully detailed and in hind sight completely rediculous. I got to the playroom and saw R standing in his playpen looking out the window and supporting his balance by holding on to the sill with one hand. He was sucking on his first two fingers of his other hand, which is normal for him pretty much all the time unless he is playing with his older brother. The unusual part exhibited itself when he turned to look at me and I saw blood running down his arm as he cried. I thought maybe he had bit himself or something along those lines, so I swept him up in my arms and started trying to comfort him. As he calmed down a little I grabbed a wash cloth and started cleaning the blood off his arm and chin when I noticed that he was missing a tooth. Somehow he had managed to convince his lower right incisor (one of only two teeth he had on the bottom) to come out. I told my husband what I saw and he checked to be sure I wasn't missing something, then went to the playpen and went through R's blankets to see if he could gather any information as to what had happened, where all he found was the tooth including its root.

I didn't really start thinking about statistics until last week when I took R to the dentist and found out that they had never had a patiend that was less than a year old before. That's when statistics started playing on my mind wondering where I stand in the population. Its just an interesting thought.