WhitneyTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part Two
October 18th 2006 15:08
This past Saturday night my in-laws took Josh. They kept him overnight and according to my mother-in-law he never cried. She said that Josh never cried for her. And he slept through the night. It had been weeks of constant crying and nonstop eating, including all night long and he’d slept for HER? And he’d never cried for HER? Could it be? Was it possible?
If anyone reinforced that I was a bad mother and doing it wrong it was my mother-in- law, on the other hand Josh’s pediatrician told me I was doing great and so was Josh. According to him, Josh was as healthy as a horse and growing in leaps and bounds.
At least someone thought I was doing a good job, I thought as I put the baby bottles and nipples in a pot on the stove to boil and sterilize them. This part of motherhood had become so routine I could even handle it in my sleep, which these days (still averaging three hours if added together) was not far off from the truth.
So I left the bottles on the stove to boil and went to make the formula (from the powder mix). Then I fed Josh a bottle and bathed and dressed him when suddenly I smelled something awful. What was that awful smell? Like chemicals. Plastic? No, more like burning tires. Burning rubber. Omigod!
I put Josh in his crib and race to the kitchen. The bottles and nipples… I’d totally forgotten about them and the water had boiled away and the plastic bottles and rubber nipples had melted. The smell and the smoke were horrific and were already filling the entire house.
All those chemicals filling the air…my baby! I ran into Josh’s room to check on him and… he’s not crying. As a matter of fact his eyes were closed and it “appeared” as if he was sleeping. But he never slept during the day. Not once since the crying had started. Well, except when he was with my in-laws.
“Wake up Josh,” I said. But he didn’t move. So I gently nudge him. But nothing. “Wake up”, I urged him my voicing rising into a panic. But he wasn’t budging. He was dead. I killed my baby. Did I kill my baby? I placed my hand on his chest and felt the rise and fall of his breathing. No he wasn’t dread. Thank God.
At that point I assumed he must have lapsed into a coma from all the smoke and the smell so I wrapped him up and buckled him into his car seat and called the doctor. “I’ve killed my baby,” I screamed into the phone and having received other panicky frantic message (although none as dire as this) his staff calmly suggested I swing by with Josh and let the doctor take a look.
By the time I arrived at the doctor’s office Josh was awake again and back to his old crybaby self. The doctor checked him over, assured me he was fine and then told me to air out the house.
Half a day later, after my sister had come home from work and cleaned out my kitchen and aired out my house, mommy and Josh returned home. The house still smelled and would for days but it wasn’t unbearable. What was unbearable was that Josh had finally taken a nap and I was too busy thinking he was dead to enjoy it.
If anyone reinforced that I was a bad mother and doing it wrong it was my mother-in- law, on the other hand Josh’s pediatrician told me I was doing great and so was Josh. According to him, Josh was as healthy as a horse and growing in leaps and bounds.
At least someone thought I was doing a good job, I thought as I put the baby bottles and nipples in a pot on the stove to boil and sterilize them. This part of motherhood had become so routine I could even handle it in my sleep, which these days (still averaging three hours if added together) was not far off from the truth.
So I left the bottles on the stove to boil and went to make the formula (from the powder mix). Then I fed Josh a bottle and bathed and dressed him when suddenly I smelled something awful. What was that awful smell? Like chemicals. Plastic? No, more like burning tires. Burning rubber. Omigod!
I put Josh in his crib and race to the kitchen. The bottles and nipples… I’d totally forgotten about them and the water had boiled away and the plastic bottles and rubber nipples had melted. The smell and the smoke were horrific and were already filling the entire house.
All those chemicals filling the air…my baby! I ran into Josh’s room to check on him and… he’s not crying. As a matter of fact his eyes were closed and it “appeared” as if he was sleeping. But he never slept during the day. Not once since the crying had started. Well, except when he was with my in-laws.
“Wake up Josh,” I said. But he didn’t move. So I gently nudge him. But nothing. “Wake up”, I urged him my voicing rising into a panic. But he wasn’t budging. He was dead. I killed my baby. Did I kill my baby? I placed my hand on his chest and felt the rise and fall of his breathing. No he wasn’t dread. Thank God.
At that point I assumed he must have lapsed into a coma from all the smoke and the smell so I wrapped him up and buckled him into his car seat and called the doctor. “I’ve killed my baby,” I screamed into the phone and having received other panicky frantic message (although none as dire as this) his staff calmly suggested I swing by with Josh and let the doctor take a look.
By the time I arrived at the doctor’s office Josh was awake again and back to his old crybaby self. The doctor checked him over, assured me he was fine and then told me to air out the house.
Half a day later, after my sister had come home from work and cleaned out my kitchen and aired out my house, mommy and Josh returned home. The house still smelled and would for days but it wasn’t unbearable. What was unbearable was that Josh had finally taken a nap and I was too busy thinking he was dead to enjoy it.
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