So, I wasn’t going to write about this. I didn’t even post it on facebook. When it happened I asked for prayers, happy thoughts, light, love, and good vibes in a few mom’s groups, but otherwise went silent. It’s been almost a year. But this is the blog post that haunts me as if this story doesn’t belong to just me anymore, as if the lesson I learned about babywearing that day is too big to just keep to myself. It is meant to be shared. So here is the post I wrote then, when emotions were raw and the story was fresh…
This is my Fuss. He’s almost five now, and he was a worn baby…
He was even a worn toddler in his BELOVED Ergo…
And although I stopped wearing him when I was just too pregnant with my second (he was 3 1/2), he now only asks to go up when issues of jealousy came up.
This worn baby has grown up into a climbing, fearless boy. If there is something that is tall and fun looking, the Fuss is going to climb it.
Even climbing the walls at times…
I’ve never worried about it because he has a great sense of balance and no fear. I just tell him to trust his own body.
Then, on the 17,856th time, he fell. I snuggled him and he said he was fine. He fell off of a 30 inch bar stool while we were visiting his Godparents’ house. He has sat on that same stool countless times and has never fallen. He got some ice and was happy when we agreed to let him watch a show so he could lay down and rest with the ice pack. All was quiet and fine. Babies were put to bed, dinner was ordered, and my husband was on his way over. The calm before the storm.
The Fuss started screaming, wailing, sobbing. Initially I was scared he would wake the sleeping littles in the house. He said that his head hurt. A lot. I offered him new ice and some Mommy snuggles. He started sobbing in my lap, my worn 10 month-old looking on from her Double Hammock perch. I could tell he was in pain. Lots of pain. This kid is called, “The Fuss,” ironically because he NEVER cries. Instead, he was heaving, sobbing, yelling, screaming.
“I have to throw up!” He yelled as he ran to the bathroom. I could hear the coughing and heaving from the next room as I frantically packed up stuff. I knew we were headed to the hospital at that point.
Things got tossed in bags in a flurry as my Fuss’s Godfather watched over him in the restroom. I already had the baby in her car seat when I went to pick him up. Vomit. All over me, all over him, all over everything.
We just have to make it to the car. Just to the car, little guy. Still sobbing. More vomit.
My dear friend appears from putting her little one to bed, “Leave the baby. You can’t take her to the emergency room. You’ll be more available for the Fuss if you leave her.”
She doesn’t take a bottle. It’s bed time. She needs me. He needs me. Then it occurred to me, “You can wear her?” “Yes,” she answered. Done. She’ll feel safe like that.
And she did.
That frantic moment was followed by more vomit, combative outbursts, lots of tears (some mine) and a husband who kept me steady in the storm.
Ultimately, the CT was clear and we were discharged after we could wake him enough to take a sip of water and take a few steps. I think this post from a mom’s group I’m in sums it up the best:
But the next day was rough. All of us had been up all night…. (except the baby. She had slept fine and had so much energy it made me dizzy.) We were told to keep an eye on him. He was still unstable on his feet, droopy. He didn’t want to leave my side. And the Little Bit… well, she really never leaves my side. As the main wearee in this house, she is always up high behind various passes, snuggled up snoozing, or cautiously exploring with her eyes. It was a pajamas and tv kind of day… except The Fuss couldn’t watch tv.
Then, it happened, my almost five year-old grabbed “his” Ergo and brought it to me. The carrier that had ushered him through toddlerhood, had silenced tantrums, and calmed frazzled nerves. His legs when walks got long, the one thing he refused to share with the new baby, this is what he needed now. The peace and comfort he had known and loved.
I can never express my gratitude to babywearing. It has made me a powerful momma, a hands-free nurser, and allowed me to care for my babies even while practicing law. It has given me a tribe in parenting and made me part of a community but this… five years after he was born was a moment I won’t forget.
Thank you, babywearing for being what my guy needed when a parents’ worst nightmare happens. Thank you for safety in the storm.