On terror

We spent most of yesterday romping around the Discovery Museum with Alex's favorite playmate, his "Regular Grandma."  Unlike me (or anyone else I know for that matter), my mom seems to have an endless supply of energy.  As long as she gets enough sleep, she's like a pack of wolves on a Starbucks bender.  After chasing the boy all over the museum, we went back to her house and Alex entertained himself with a hose and a box of water on the deck.  He even skipped his nap to go swimming with my brother Tom while my mom whipped my ass at Scrabble.  For all of us, it was one of those memorably perfect summer days.

When we get home from my mom's, I rush us inside so I can throw the mandajuice that I'd left at her house after Blogher into the freezer before it starts to thaw.  That shit is like liquid gold, so it's the number one thing on my mind.  Somehow I manage to carry everything inside in one trip - the diaper bag, the milk bag, the new Superman costume mom bought Alex at Costco, my camera bag, the dirty clothes, the Scrabble game I'm borrowing so I can whip Dave's ass, and the baby fast asleep in her car seat.

I set Alex up to watch some TV and he falls asleep flat on his back within minutes.  Genoa never woke up when we came in, so I leave her strapped into her car seat and put her next the couch and open the back door for fresh air and freeway noise.  I check my e-mail, call Expedia, surf Bloglines (I've been gone all day, so everything is bold, bold, bold!), the usual stuff I do when both kids are asleep and I have the house to myself.

After twenty minutes, my annoying parent instinct kicks in and I decide to do a sleep check on the baby.  Genoa is both healthy and also a second child, so I'm pretty good about limiting the sleep checks.  But I still occasionally feel the need to bug her just enough to check that she's alive, but not enough to wake her up. 

So I walk up behind the car seat, pull the sunshade back and gently brush her hair with the back of my hand.  She doesn't move.  No big deal, I figure she's really tired, so I gently lift her slumped head and carefully slouch it to the other side.  This is a big risk; Dave does it all the time and he usually wakes her up.  Her skin is cool to the touch.

She does not move.

My heart starts to beat a little faster and I dart around to the front of the car seat.  I sit on my knees facing her and rub her chest a little. 

She does not move.

I go from gently rubbing her chest to shaking her entire body with my hand.

She does not move.

I unbuckle her car seat straps faster than car seat straps have ever been unbuckled in the history of car seats.  I lift her limp body over to the carpet.

She does. not. move.  Her startle reflex is missing; her eyes don't even flutter.  I can't breathe and I'm not sure which is racing faster, my heart or my brain.  I don't know what to do, so I just keep trying to wake her up.  I start yelling, "GENOA, WAKE UP!" 

She does not move.

"WAKE UP BABY GIRL!"  Now I'm screaming right in her face while shaking her.

She does not move.

I start to take off her clothes because that seems like the next thing to do.

Her eyes flicker and roll back into her head, but she falls back asleep immediately.  She's alive!  I suck in a tiny, shallow breath of relief, but something is not right.  It's never this hard to wake her up.

I keep yelling at her.  "WAKE UP GENOA!"  I'm surprised that Alex doesn't stir.  He's only three feet away, but misses the whole commotion. 

At last she starts to come around.  Her eyes flutter, then slowly open and now she is staring at me and I can see the gray-blue of her irises and the black of her pupils.  And she is MAD.  She scrunches up her face and starts to scream bloody murder.  I'm certain this sounds better than anything I've ever heard, even better than those first spine-chilling screams the second after she was born.

In hindsight, I realize that she was breathing the whole time.  I still don't know why it was so hard to wake her up.  Whatever it was, I have a renewed understanding for the phrase "sleeping like the dead."  She is fine. 

I, on the other hand, am not.  It took HOURS for my heart to stop racing.  And now, the next day, I still can't even THINK about it without an instant reminder of the contents of my stomach.  For the longest sixty seconds of my life, I was forced to consider that my baby might not be alive anymore.  And the burning, white-hot sting of that realization was the most terrifying moment of my life.

Comments

[Rachel]

Oh my goodness! I'm so relieved to hear that she is okay. I was tearing up just reading that and poor you!!!

I checked on the baby that I sit for once when he was only a few months old and I couldn't tell if he was breathing so I did the "finger under the nose test" and couldn't feel anything and he felt kind of cold to me. It took a few good pokes before he stretched and I realized that he was indeed fine, but it scared the crap out of me so I can't even BEGIN to imagine how scary this must have been.

So happy that she's okay and I hope that your heart settles soon. Sounds like you've got a VERY deep sleeper on your hands.

[Erin]

God, that was horrifying just to READ. I can't even begin to imagine how scared you must have been.

[Anne]

I remember Sam sleeping like that one day and yup, it was a frightening time! I'm glad she's fine.

[David]

I can't imagine how that must have felt.

Once, I lost sight of Alex at the park for about 20 seconds and this nauseating wave of fear crashed right through me. I remember thinking that if anyone ever did snatch him, I literally would not be able to go on living.

On a lighter note, how did that Scrabble game go?

[Susan]

Oh. My. God. I am so relieved that she is OK. I can not begin to imagine how horrible that was for you.

[rootietoot]

And now, I'll bet you do sleep checks ALL the time. Bless you, what a fright...a mother's nightmare.

[Kathryn]

Oh my god, I completely stopped breathing while reading this post, and didn't even realize it until you said she was fine, and I took this monster gulp of air.

It's amazing how deeply babies can sleep, isn't it? Frightening and amazing.

[Ceece]

gah, been there and not looking forward to doing it again.

Glad everything was OK!

[chris]

Om my goodness, I had frightened chills reading this post. I so clearly remember each of my children doing this and how terrified I was.

I hope you have recovered.

[Sheryl]

Dear God, how terrifying! SIDS is just unthinkable torture.

[The Zero Boss]

Gah. Awful. It reminds me of my mom's story of how she panicked when she came to my crib and found me asleep with my eyes open. I think I took 10 years off her life with that.

[Sally]

I'm so glad she was just sleeping really soundly. How scary!

[Lon]

Wow. Sleep check's. I don't think I've ever done one of those. But I did see one done on a movie once on a dog... forget what movie. But they stuck a small pocket mirror under the dogs nose to see it fog up. I'd suggest that in the future.

[Heidi]

Holy Moly! That was a horrible story. My heart started racing. Ugh! SO glad to hear she is okay!

[crazedparent]

ugh. my heart sank just reading your story. glad all is okay.

btw, alex's curls are gorgeous.

[ferd]

My heart stopped as I read this post. I knew it had to be bad. Thank God, I was wrong!

[Jem]

I'm glad she's okay! That post scared me too.

[Erin]

My heart started racing in sympathy for you. I have nightmares like that about my girl. I am so glad that she is ok.

[jess]

That post was chilling, i almost wanted to stop reading.

Glad everything is okay. I love that baby.

[owlhaven]

sooo glad she's ok. I had one of those terror moments this afternoon at the waterpark when my one year old wandered away during the 5 seconds it took me to take a picture of the 4 year old. She was 'lost' for about 20 seconds, but I didn't stop shaking for 5 minutes.

Mary, mom to many

[Susanne]

Thank God, everything's okay. Hug you.

[Mary Tsao]

OMG! My heart is racing now, too!

The unthinkable...

[R. Robyn]

The reassuring part of this story is that in the end, I knew she'd be alright. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't have been blogging about it. Regardless, this sounds horrible to have endured, and I can only imagine the feelings you must have had.

[Mother]

Oh Amanda. That's awful. I was freaking out when I found my 2 year old next to a zipped up tightly closed bag of vitamins - I'm pretty sure I would have been beyond help in the same situation.

I'm glad she's okay. I hope you are too :)

[Tasha]

I have tears and I am shaking....glad to hear she is okay....don't want to even imagine