I was in labor 23 hours before my daughter was born on May 19, 1990. I blame it on the epidural and pain meds. It slowed my labor that had been progressing pretty quickly until then.
During her birth forceps were used which left bruising of her face and head. I felt horrible. She weighed 6 lbs. 15 oz. and her little diaper was bigger than she was. About two hours after birth I was allowed to feed her a bottle of water, since I wasn’t nursing. Then, they took her back to the nursery.
She was so tiny. Like a baby doll.
Soon after, I was told that my newborn baby daughter was having some complications and would not be brought back to my room. I was terrified. I had to wait about six hours before I could see her again and my heart was breaking.
When I did see her I broke down and cried. Her tiny little body had so many IV’s and tubes I nearly couldn’t handle it. She was under a light as well. I was told she had MAS; Meconium Aspiration Syndrome. She had a bowel movement just prior to birth. Along with amniotic fluid it was aspirated and in her lungs.
Three days later I was sent home but my baby girl had to stay in the hospital until she could breathe without oxygen and all of her blood levels and jaundice were cleared.
I would spend the entire day at the hospital with her, watching her from the window, while her daddy was at work and her brother was at school. Finally, after eight days I was able to bring her home. I was already exhausted but now that I had her home I thought I would be able to get some rest. That didn’t happen.
Apparently she had her days and nights mixed up and sleep was just not on her agenda. She cried constantly because of her new surroundings and I was barely getting two or three hours of sleep a day.
After a couple weeks a routine had finally set in. Once her brother was off to school I would give her a bottle and she would nap from about 9 to 11 AM before waking up for another feeding.
We were having a really good morning and we were all getting used to the new routine. As I was sterilizing bottles and preparing more milk, I had used the last of her formula. I decided to make a quick trip to Winn-Dixie as it was nearly across the street from where we lived.
Once at the store I did my quick shopping and loaded my items onto the conveyor belt. Since I frequented the grocery store often, the store employees knew me. As the cashier was ringing up the few items I had, she looked at my tasseled hair, unmade up and sleep deprived face and asked me the three words that haunted me for a good long while as a young mother... “Where’s the baby”?
I made eye contact with her for a few seconds before anxiety, fear and embarrassment set in. “My baby”? I hurriedly reached for my keys in my purse and ran out the door in a panic.
I made it home in less than a minute. I’m sure I jumped out of my car before it had completely come to a stop. I ran into the house crying and nearly hyper-ventilating. I ran to her room to find her sleeping peacefully on her back with her arms slightly raised above her head. She looked like a little angel. I placed my hand on her chest as mothers do when they are checking on their babies. She was fine. Perfectly fine and resting peacefully.
Me? Not so much. As exhausted as I had been over the past few weeks since giving birth, I had found a brief moment during the day to run a much needed errand. I left her. Alone. In her crib. In a split second I had become absent minded at a moment I thought I was completely sane. I could not believe that I had left my infant child at home, alone to make a quick trip to the grocery store until the cashier asked me, “where’s the baby“?
It took me two weeks to work up the nerve to admit to my husband what I had done. His response? He giggled. He kissed my forehead and bear hugged me. He told me that it would be our little secret and that she wouldn’t remember it anyway.
That was the first of many, many mom fails I experienced with my daughter. Fortunately, she has survived every one of them for nearly thirty years.
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