Fear

Drew was a terrible sleeper when he was a baby. I think perhaps I’ve said this before, but in case you didn’t know, he didn’t sleep through the night until he was two. That’s two years, not two months! Yes, there were nights here and there that he managed to make it the majority of the night without waking, but 99% of the time he was up once, or twice, and often five or six times by morning.

I remember one of those times that he actually did sleep most of the night. I vividly recall waking up near 4 AM, and being confused because I never, ever just woke up. Someone always woke me up. And then the fear set in, because in about 3 seconds I convinced myself he had stopped breathing. He had stopped breathing and when I went in there I was going to find him, um, not alive. And it was going to be horrible. And so, I woke Andy up and made him go in and check on him, because I didn’t want to be the one to find him that way. Of course, he was fine, and my husband was convinced that I was a complete lunatic, but hey–I was sleep deprived on top of never parenting anyone before.

Why did I tell you that? What made me think of it now?

Well, after Nicky’s surgery yesterday morning, he recovered amazingly fast. By noon he was asking for Doritos. He was playing outside. I was so impressed. He felt so good that he never did take a nap, and spent most of the day playing nicely–even after his brother got home. They were getting along and it was awesome.

I started on supper at a little after 5. By this time both of them were a little tired, so they retired to the living room to watch cartoons and snack on apple slices and yogurt drinks. I was in the kitchen, piddling with supper and checking e-mail. Drew came in after awhile–I’m not sure how long it had been, probably 30 minutes or so–and said that Nicky was asleep. I wasn’t surprised, because he hadn’t napped all day. But I really didn’t want him sleeping right then, because then he’d not want to go to bed on time. So, I went in to wake him up.

I couldn’t wake him up. He wouldn’t wake up. I talked to him and rubbed him and tickled him. I poked him and pinched him and picked him up. He didn’t even begin to wake up–he flopped around like a rag doll. It was awful. All of a sudden I convinced myself that he was having a delayed allergic reaction to the anesthesia, or perhaps he’d had a stroke, or a seizure. He was breathing, but totally unresponsive. I was on the verge of panic, and just deciding to call 911 when he said, quite clearly, “leave me alone!”

He was just sleeping. I imagine he was exhausted from a combination of the drugs from this morning, the stress of waking up from the anesthesia, and the long day of playing outside with no nap. I probably tried to wake him up in the super deep part of sleep when your brain resists consciousness.

I am nuts. Certifiable.

I never felt this way before I had kids. Never experienced the blind panic that can totally engulf your mind at a moment’s notice. I never had my stomach lurch and my chest tighten instantly like it does at the thought that something might be wrong with this person, this child, my baby. This being that I’m supposed to be caring for and protecting, even though I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.

Is it instinct? Some ageless maternal instinct that makes me (a generally sane and normal person, even if I am a little OCD sometimes) react this way? Am I crazy? Because I am perfectly aware that it’s possible that I’m the only one that has these wacko thoughts, and you guys could all be sitting at your computers rolling your eyes right now and thinking “geez, she really needs help!”

Anyway, Drew never had a brush with SIDS and Nicky wasn’t allergic to the anesthesia. Both of them are fine and dandy and probably convinced that their mom is a nutso after she checked on them about a million times last night, once even going so far as to wake them up to make sure they were alright.

Happy Halloween, ya’ll. Costume photos to come tomorrow