That time I dropped my baby on the floor. . . I think
The night we got home from the hospital I think I dropped Jonah on the floor.
I say, "I think," because I have no recollection of doing it.
Even at this point, seven weeks later, I'm not sure whose screams woke me up--mine or his. It bothers me greatly that I cannot remember, cannot pinpoint my exact failure to care for my baby. I was not even conscious when I hurt him.
I was so glad to be home, so much more relaxed than at the hospital, so sleep-deprived, and on so much medication, as I held our baby in our cozy bed, happy. I woke to nurse him, changed his diaper, burped him, and then I turned off the lamp so that Seth could get some sound sleep. I had every intention of getting up in the next thirty seconds to put Jonah in the cradle. But I didn't. I dozed off instead.
The next moment that I remember, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I started screaming that I had dropped the baby on the floor. I turned on the lamp. I was frantic and hysterical. A wide-eyed Seth sat up and rushed over to my side of the bed. We looked down at Jonah, lying half on the hard tile floor, half on a pillow, his head right beside the wooden foot of the cradle. He was still swaddled. I didn't trust myself to pick him up.
He wasn't crying any longer. Had he been? Hadn't his screams woken me up? In the time it took for me to scream a little and cry quite a bit, I picked him up and he fell right back asleep.
Seth remains unconvinced that I dropped him. He thinks that in my sleep, I got up and placed him on the floor, thinking that it was the cradle, and then dreamed that I dropped him and heard him crying. Having never walked in my sleep, and having never EVER not been highly vigilant in my care of a newborn, I cannot accept his theory.
I cried every time that I thought about it for weeks. I know, hormones, etc. But the knowledge that I could hurt my children unconsciously and not remember it--bah! It drove me crazy. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt!
I thought he probably had brain damage. Even though he seemed okay, he would most likely suffer trauma as an adult because of the fall. What had he hit on his way down? I imagined his tiny body bouncing from the cradle to the bed to the nightstand, incurring many internal injuries. He could have cracked open his skull! I didn't even tell my doctor that I had dropped him because I thought she would call DHS and report me for endangering my children. (I mean, hormones and sleep deprivation can do some crazy things to your brain.) Jonah would definitely be emotionally scarred by the incident. And I would live out the rest of his life in guilt and sadness over that moment and would cease to be a healthy mother to him.
But you know what?
He's fine.
It's taken me seven weeks to believe it. And rest assured, I am still sad thinking about that tiny baby lying on the cold floor. But I'm not despairing anymore. I'm sure if I thought about it long enough and hard enough it would make me feel deep remorse again.
But he is okay.
He smiled at me all through his baptism this morning. He sleeps like a champ. He eats really well. Yesterday I put him in a six month onesie because he's just that huge! I suppose at this point, he could develop some kind of issue from the fall, but I would actually be surprised by it rather than have my suspicions affirmed.
And yes, I realize that I was afraid to tell this to my doctor, and now I am putting it ON THE INTERNET.
But this is for all the moms out there who are having a hard day. Either you can say to yourself (as I would have seven weeks ago), "At least I've never DROPPED MY BABY ON THE FLOOR!"
Or you can allow the seed of hope to go into your heart that the failures that you feel today might not be as big as they seem. And that maybe, one day, you and your kiddo will both be okay. (And maybe they won't remember it.)
I say, "I think," because I have no recollection of doing it.
Even at this point, seven weeks later, I'm not sure whose screams woke me up--mine or his. It bothers me greatly that I cannot remember, cannot pinpoint my exact failure to care for my baby. I was not even conscious when I hurt him.
I was so glad to be home, so much more relaxed than at the hospital, so sleep-deprived, and on so much medication, as I held our baby in our cozy bed, happy. I woke to nurse him, changed his diaper, burped him, and then I turned off the lamp so that Seth could get some sound sleep. I had every intention of getting up in the next thirty seconds to put Jonah in the cradle. But I didn't. I dozed off instead.
The next moment that I remember, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I started screaming that I had dropped the baby on the floor. I turned on the lamp. I was frantic and hysterical. A wide-eyed Seth sat up and rushed over to my side of the bed. We looked down at Jonah, lying half on the hard tile floor, half on a pillow, his head right beside the wooden foot of the cradle. He was still swaddled. I didn't trust myself to pick him up.
He wasn't crying any longer. Had he been? Hadn't his screams woken me up? In the time it took for me to scream a little and cry quite a bit, I picked him up and he fell right back asleep.
Seth remains unconvinced that I dropped him. He thinks that in my sleep, I got up and placed him on the floor, thinking that it was the cradle, and then dreamed that I dropped him and heard him crying. Having never walked in my sleep, and having never EVER not been highly vigilant in my care of a newborn, I cannot accept his theory.
I cried every time that I thought about it for weeks. I know, hormones, etc. But the knowledge that I could hurt my children unconsciously and not remember it--bah! It drove me crazy. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt!
I thought he probably had brain damage. Even though he seemed okay, he would most likely suffer trauma as an adult because of the fall. What had he hit on his way down? I imagined his tiny body bouncing from the cradle to the bed to the nightstand, incurring many internal injuries. He could have cracked open his skull! I didn't even tell my doctor that I had dropped him because I thought she would call DHS and report me for endangering my children. (I mean, hormones and sleep deprivation can do some crazy things to your brain.) Jonah would definitely be emotionally scarred by the incident. And I would live out the rest of his life in guilt and sadness over that moment and would cease to be a healthy mother to him.
But you know what?
He's fine.
It's taken me seven weeks to believe it. And rest assured, I am still sad thinking about that tiny baby lying on the cold floor. But I'm not despairing anymore. I'm sure if I thought about it long enough and hard enough it would make me feel deep remorse again.
But he is okay.
He smiled at me all through his baptism this morning. He sleeps like a champ. He eats really well. Yesterday I put him in a six month onesie because he's just that huge! I suppose at this point, he could develop some kind of issue from the fall, but I would actually be surprised by it rather than have my suspicions affirmed.
And yes, I realize that I was afraid to tell this to my doctor, and now I am putting it ON THE INTERNET.
But this is for all the moms out there who are having a hard day. Either you can say to yourself (as I would have seven weeks ago), "At least I've never DROPPED MY BABY ON THE FLOOR!"
Or you can allow the seed of hope to go into your heart that the failures that you feel today might not be as big as they seem. And that maybe, one day, you and your kiddo will both be okay. (And maybe they won't remember it.)
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