Guilt

Something really terrible and scary happened a few nights ago...

I went to bed at 10pm and, as usual, Brees smelled me coming.  As soon as I entered
the room and climbed into our bed, her little eyes popped open and she peeked at me
through her crib, reaching for her Mama.  I pulled her into the bed with us and we lay side
by side, Brees quietly nursing herself to sleep, my own dreams swirling around my head
as I drifted off and rest took over.
Our nightly routine.

And then I heard a YELP, like the sound a puppy makes when you step on their tail,
a THUMP and a YELP and I jumped out of bed and screamed at the top of my lungs
as I realized that my baby HAD FALLEN OFF THE BED AND ONTO THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!

It all happened so fast, I was pulled out of my sleep in a panic, my heart pounding inside
my head, complete disbelief at the sound I heard her make: a YELP.  And she was on the
floor beside our bed and I scooped her up and held her so tight and she was breathing and
I was breathing and we were both breathing a little too fast: FEAR.  Shawn had to work
the night shift that night, because everything always has to happen when my husband is
at work.  But Isabelle was in the bed with me and she lifted her heavy eyelids to see what
all the commotion was, gazed at me holding Brees close in the dimly lit room, swaying
back and forth, humming softly in her ear, willing both of us to calm our beating hearts.
She gazed at us and said, "Awww, look at y'all!  You are such a good Mama, so sweet."
And then she drifted back to sleep.

I am not a good mother!!  My baby just fell on the floor!  How did this happen?  I took her
into the bathroom and looked her over, examining every inch of her body with my trained
nurse eyes, searching for any sign of trauma, any possibility of an injury.  She just smiled
at me, stroked my cheek, giggled as I turned her over and over.  She was fine, not a
scratch on her.  She was fine.

She rested her head on my shoulder, closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep.  But I
was scared and worried that she might have a concussion.  I called Shawn at work and
told him what had happened, warned him that his baby girl might not be home when he
got off work because Child Protective Services was probably on their way to confiscate
her right now.  How did this happen?  We've been co-sleeping for months, I'm always
so careful, she's just a little baby, I'm a nurse, I should know better, how could I not have
kept her safe?

He calmed me as only Shawn can, reassuring me that these things happen, it was an
accident, babies are resilient, just think of all the times she falls throughout the day trying
to walk and crawl and climb, she's tough, just watch her close, you know what to do, you
are a nurse, trust in yourself.
I love you.

So back to bed we went, Brees already fast asleep.  I created a fortress in the bed
with pillows, protection on both sides, and held her close to me.  I didn't sleep for the rest
of the night: I timed her respirations, counted her heart rate, monitoring her for any signs
of distress.  I'm a nurse, but she's my baby.  All ability to keep calm in the face of crisis
goes out the window when it's your own child.

Dawn arrived before I knew it and Brees was fine.  We woke up the next morning and
started our day like every other, but I was shaken to my core.  I replayed the night's
events in my head a million times, the sound of her YELP screaming through my ears,
making my heart ache.  The guilt, the what ifs, the worst scenarios possible haunting
me.  Yes, it was an accident, but I am her mother and I should have
protected her better.
The guilt.

Motherhood is ridden with guilt, isn't it?  These things happen and people try to comfort
us but there is no comfort to be had when the guilt overwhelms you.  I told Shawn,
"If something would have happened, something terrible, I don't think I..."

He stopped me, put his hand over my heart, and we prayed.  We gave thanks,
acknowledged our blessings, because NOTHING bad happened, we were protected that
night, an angel put her hand down and caught our sweet baby girl, resting her gently on
the floor, keeping her from harm.  And all the worry and guilt in the world is just keeping
me from counting my blessings, preventing me from thanking God for saving us from
a terrible situation.

And so we are okay, another story to add to Brees's baby book, a night I am sure will be
the butt of many jokes as she gets older: the night she fell out of bed.  She will tease me
about it when she grows up, laugh about how this night is the source of all her problems.
The guilt will subside and I will eventually be able to laugh at myself and we will move on.

I keep thinking about Isabelle, her words that night, "You are such a good Mama."  

God speaking to me through my little girl, reassuring me.  This is not the first accident, 

nor will it be the last.  This is part of raising children.  I need to recognize that and be 

grateful.  This time, we were blessed.  

Guilt has no room here.