Just Breathe
Being a brand new mom is so hard. Throw finding your two week old baby choking and gasping for air into the mix, and talk about feeling like a complete failure and being left wondering if you’ll ever be a good mom.
Before having children of your own, it’s so easy to critique the parenting of others. “I’d never let my child behave like that,” “I’d never co-sleep with my baby” or “I’d never give my child what they want to simply get them to stop making a scene in public.” Right when your own baby enters the world, all of those “I’d nevers” get tossed right out the window. You simply do whatever is necessary to grab any amount of sleep possible, even practically choking on your own saliva when you don’t dare cough because your baby just fell asleep. You cry over spilled breast milk, mop up spit up off the floor with your sock, all while trying to look like you’ve got it all together on the outside.
I was a complete emotional mess after having Jameson. I cried about everything. I cried because my breasts hurt from breastfeeding. I cried because my mother wanted to give her a bottle of formula just to give my breasts a break. I cried because I needed a break from taking care of our new baby girl. I cried because I hated being away from her when my husband whisked me away for a bite to eat for lunch. I cried because I was tired. I cried because she was the most perfect little person. I cried just to cry. The emotions that you experience after you become a mom are some of the highest highs and lowest lows you’ll ever experience in life, but they pass.
When Jameson was born, she was so extra! She cried about everything too. She hated bath time. She hated her bassinet and crib. She hated her diaper being changed. She hated getting dressed and undressed. She hated 7 pm; my husband and I dreaded when the sun started to set and 7 pm would start approaching because we knew we were about to listen to a crying baby who may not stop until an hour or more later. To make matters worse, there was nothing you could do to soothe her during this witching hour.
After two weeks of being a mom, I thought I finally getting into somewhat of a rhythm with things. Unfortunately, I was I wrong. I was getting ready for my two week follow up with the doctor while she slept in our bedroom. I was enjoying the little bit of free time to apply some makeup and feel just a little bit like me again. I was applying my eyeliner when I heard a funny noise come from her. It wasn’t a noise I’d heard her make before, so I got up to check on her. When I saw her back arched, her face red and gasping for air, I panicked and acted all at the same time. I ran and got the suction bulb and started sucking the phlegm from her nose and mouth, all while calling 911. All of the emotions and what if’s were taking over my body.
Talk about feeling like the worst mom ever! I felt like I was to blame in every regard. I should’ve had her right by my side. I should’ve laid her on her side instead of her back. I should’ve gotten to her sooner. I should’ve acted faster.
I decided that the next best step was riding with her in the ambulance to All Children’s Hospital to see what may have caused her to spit up and choke on this thick phlegm. I, of course, was thinking the worst, and perhaps she had a seizure. After the doctors ran tests and examined her overnight, they ended up ruling it as a BRUE, or a brief resolved unexplainable event. What did that mean? Did they just give it a name, so I had somewhat of a definitive answer? I was at a loss. All I did know after leaving the hospital was I would never sleep again.
From that night forward, I would doze off for only minutes while I sat straight up in bed while she layed in an inclined position on my chest. I would rest my hand on her back to make sure she was breathing. I would even hold her while she napped. I was terrified of losing my baby girl. Now that I look back, I probably suffered from some degree of PTSD.
As time went on, the anxiety and fear subsided. That was until I had our baby boy, Jace. When we brought him home from the hospital, I found that I couldn’t sleep again and would constantly check to make sure he was breathing. I ended up doing the same thing with him; I slept in an upright position while he laid on my chest, and I rested my hand on his back to know he was still breathing. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. I wouldn’t let it.
Jameson is now three years old, and Jace is one year old. I sleep now but only with them laying right next to me. It’s the only way I get any peace of mind.
One night, they will sleep in their own beds. Until then, I will enjoy the nighttime snuggles and the contentment I feel when they rest their little heads on my chest giving me the reassurance that I too can keep on breathing, and we will all be OK.