Bad Mommy

I swear I'm working on the birth story and several related posts ... in my head ... between non-stop baby feedings at 3a.m. I'll post them as soon as I have the ability to use both hands and my brain at the same time.

In the meantime, I've managed to put myself in the running for this year's World's Worst Mommy Award, so I thought I'd share that with you while I have a moment.

Saturday morning. Squeaker (who shall henceforth be known as Brother, since he is very proud of his new status and no longer makes any sounds that could reasonably be interpreted as a squeak) was watching Curious George cartoons while bouncing on his little trampoline. I was sitting a few feet away at our dining table, breastfeeding Sister, who rested comfortably on the Boppy on my lap. The Mister was in the kitchen making his breakfast or doing the dishes or something like that. It wasn't what you'd call a quiet or peaceful scene, but it was pretty calm for our household.

After Sister was born, one of my friends sent me a big bouquet of pink flowers, complete with a helium-filled mylar balloon proclaiming "It's a Girl!", which Brother promptly confiscated as his very own. He'd been hauling that balloon around with him everywhere he went for the past several days. I had warned the Mister not to leave the balloon in Brother's room at night, as it had a long ribbon attached to it that could easily become a strangulation device. The Mister grumbled something to me that could be interpreted as "stop being so paranoid." Um, yeah. Cue the dark foreshadowing music.

So in the midst of this peacefully chaotic Saturday morning scene, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Brother had -- you guessed it -- managed to wrap the ribbon of the balloon around his neck. "Get that off of your neck!" I nagged. My chair was within arm's distance of him, so I turned quickly and tried to help him unwrap the ribbon. Brother is now Three Years Old, which means that he wants to Do Things Himself. Which, of course, meant that he pulled back away from me so I couldn't help with the ribbon. I then realized that he'd wrapped the balloon and the other end of the ribbon around on the handle of the trampoline. When he pulled back from me (and the trampoline), the ribbon tightened around his neck. I tried desperately to loosen the ribbon and to get my fingers between it and his neck, but it only got tighter. Holy fuck.

"It's wrapped around his neck!" I screamed at the Mister. "Scissors! Get the scissors!" By this point, Brother was beginning to panic too, crying and yelling "Ow! Owie!" while still pulling away from me and the trampoline handle, which of course was only tightening the damn garrote. Whereupon I saw the veins in my child's neck begin to bulge, the color of his skin begin to change, and I began completely freaking out. My kid was getting strangled right before my eyes. How the hell could I have let this happen?!

"Scissors! Scissors!" I screamed at the Mister. "I'm getting them! I'm coming!" he yelled back, in his "dammit woman, why don't you trust me with small tasks?!" fighting voice. OMFG, I thought, now is not the time to get all hurt-feelings-fighting-mood on me. Don't you realize your child is going to die?!

And then -- the unthinkable. As I lurched forward to try to save my oldest child, I completely forgot about the brand new baby on my lap. The next thing I knew, I was watching my 11-day-old infant daughter tumble to the floor. She hit head first, somersaulted, and ended up in a crumpled squalling heap.

Whereupon my screaming took on a new tone. "Oh my God! I dropped the baby! I dropped her on her head!" Never in the history of the universe has a mother felt such guilt ... or such fear. I was incapable of seeing anything but the (possibly dead yet somehow still howling) baby, although some part of my brain registered that the Mister was closing in on Brother (presumably with scissors). I scooped up the pile of baby and rushed to the couch with her, both of us howling uncontrollably. I felt her head and all of her limbs for obvious breaks or dents and could find none, but what do I know? I'm no doctor. God, would we have to go to the doctor and confess what had happened? Would the baby die before I could get her there? How in the world could I drop my baby? How could I forget about her like that? What kind of creature does that?

And then Brother was rushing across the room to me, freed from the evil ribbon, tears streaming down his face, wailing. I clasped the baby to my chest with one arm and hugged Brother tightly with the other. The Mister joined his traumatized sobbing family on the couch and we all huddled together until the weeping began to ease. When we had a chance to examine Brother, we found that he had a raised red welt around his neck that looked exactly as if someone had tried to strangle him with a piece of wire. I imagined the conversation with Child Protective Services -- "Yes, my daughter has brain damage from my dropping her on her head and no I didn't try to strangle my son. He did that to himself." I pictured the social worker shaking her head while calling the cops.

About 5 minutes later, my in-laws showed up. They're here for a 2-week visit. When I told them what happened, my MIL laughed at me for being so upset. "It happens to everyone. I dropped the Mister when he was 9 months old and he's fine." I'd heard that story before, so I knew she'd be going there. But, with all due respect, there's a difference between dropping a 9-month-old baby who has lunged out of your arms and dropping an 11-day-old infant because you forgot she existed. Particularly so when you've spent the last 5 years of your life walking through Infertility Hell to get said infant. And, when she dropped the Mister, she wasn't simultaneously trying to untangle a tightening knot from around her other child's throat, while wondering how she'd ever explain to his birth mom that he died from a balloon given to celebrate the birth of her new daughter, and maybe if I'd been paying more attention to him instead of focusing on the baby, he wouldn't have had the chance to strangle himself in the first place. Bottom line, knowing that both of your kids could have died in the same 5-minute period is enough to put any parent into a full-blown panic. So, yeah, I appreciate that MIL was trying to make me feel better, but it wasn't the same situation at all, and a bit of compassion would have been helpful.

Anyway, when the World's Worst Mommy Awards are announced this year, look for my name at the top of the list. (And if you have any suggestions about how to keep sibling rivalry from escalating to repeated attempts at murder-suicide, please let me know.)

Comments

[Suzy]

Any DSS worker who actually had kids would totally understand your story. "Oh, the balloon-ribbon-trampoline-toddler-strangle combined with the newborn-baby-lack-of-sleep-unplanned-lap- dismount. No problem. Case closed."

[Auntie K]

Honey, I hate to tell you this but you are NOT the Worlds Worst Mommy...you're just a Mommy! But I can only imagine the terrors you went through, you poor thing! And when you relate this story to your children (and you know you will) they will use it to try and guilt you into letting them do or have this or that or the other...You're a great Mommy, Sweetie! And the Kids Are All Right, Right?

[Queenie]

Totally feel your pain, but you're not a bad mother. One horrendously frightening moment down, 8,000 more to go!!! Childhood is inherently dangerous, isn't it? At least it feels that way if you're the parent. I look back at the scrapes I got into as a child, and wonder how I survived. To my child self, it all seemed perfectly reasonable. My poor mother.

My DH would have been the same way about the ribbon on the balloon, pre-incident. He's always rolling his eyes at me. I wonder what happens when I'm not around.

[Akamrsx.wordpress.com]

I was hoping to hear an update from you, but this really does take the cake. What a terrible scare for you all. You did everything that you could. You know you did but you are beating yourself up because that's what us ladies just do. You are so not in the running for Worst Mommy Ever. I am because I made my sweet child part with his car to have dinner. The screams of outrage are still ringing in my ears.

You and Mister will laugh about this one day. Seriously.

[luna]

sleep deprivation explains a lot.

it's hard, I tell you. it's just plain hard, those first months.

exhaustion and elation, with moments of omfg, how the hell am I going to get through this awe and elation. plus a bit of shock. yep.

good to hear from you.

[Anne]

Siblings Without Rivalry by Elaine Farber (spelling?). Best book ever on how to handle siblings who try to kill each other. Not that you would need it since you seem to handle the murder attempts quite well on your own ;-)

[Cindy]

I hope next time her suction to your boob is stronger so that she'll just stay stuck to you.

[Bev]

Absolutely hilarious! And quite normal