At sixteen days old, my newborn had yet another medical appointment.
This was her first with the family doctor after previous postnatal care appointments, where her weight was closely monitored to make sure she regained what she’d lost at birth. Everything looked good within her first two weeks, and the doctors, nurses and lactation consultants released us confidently, passing the baton to the family doctor.
We booked the appointment. It was another chilly day as strong gusts of wind occasionally rattled the windows to our apartment on the tenth floor, announcing with intimidation, “Winter is coming!”
I wasn’t particularly excited about it. That wind bites, so we needed to make sure the baby’s well covered and cozy in her car seat. As I struggled to strap her in comfortably, Mummy ordered the Uber to come get us, which said would arrive in about five minutes.
And as Baby drifted into dreamland, her relaxed bowels decided to let loose like they had been restrained and were flowing to long awaited freedom. The rumbling sound that came from inside the car seat was a dreaded one to hear at that moment, and thank God the Huggies diaper contained the smell I anticipated to prick my nostrils.
I’m still baffled by how such a tiny, cute being is capable of blowing the air with atomic potency.
There was no time to change her. Our Uber would be at the building’s entrance at any moment, so Mummy and I decided I’ll change her as soon as we got to the doctor’s. We rushed to the elevator that took us to the ground floor, and outside was our Uber waiting for us.
We made it to the doctor’s office twenty minutes later, safe and sound, thank God. We headed to the reception and asked immediately, “Is there anywhere we can change the baby?”
“Sure,” the receptionist answered like she was accustomed to that question. “I’ll show you in a minute.”
As she dug out Baby’s medical file on her computer, Mummy and I took off our jackets and hung them. Soon after, we were taken to the room where the doctor would meet with us, and there I changed Baby as fast as I could. Just before I started doing so, the receptionist quickly let us know, “Take off all her clothes, leave her with just the clean diaper on, as we’re going to measure her weight and height before the doctor comes to see her.”
“Oh no,” I thought, anxiety starting to kick in slowly. “This girl is going to flip on us.” From the previous appointments, it was clear she didn’t like being stripped naked at all.
Thank God. Only her husband shall do so in Jesus’ name, Mummy and I had declared…loving it…except at such times.
With arms reaching up as far as they could, with wrists awkwardly bent and palms open, Baby wailed for dear life as soon as her body shivered from the brush of cool ventilated air across her bare skin, and didn’t stop until after her measurements were taken and was held tight to Mummy’s chest with a blanket over her.
Three minutes of a baby wailing its lungs out can seem like an eternity!
Again, I’m baffled by how such tiny lungs can fill the air with glass-shattering soundwaves.
Shortly after, the doctor came in to examine her and answer any questions we had for him regarding some concerns with the baby, such as the gas in her belly that was starting to disrupt her sleep lately, and more.
Everything looked fine, thank God. There were no major issues to be worried about, thank God. Baby was as healthy as a horse, thank God.
Before heading back home, we had to feed her…to soothe her after what she dreaded enduring, and to get her to sleep because you don’t want a crying baby in a car seat on the move. You can’t do much until you’re out of the vehicle.
We made it back home safe and sound again, thank God. It was already dusk…at 4 p.m., something I’m still adjusting to. It’s confusing!
At home, first thing I did was get Baby out of her car seat and into her bassinet to complete her sleep cycle more comfortably. Meanwhile, we grabbed a bite to eat and sat down to relax and chat with my mother-in-law who’s staying with us to lend an extra hand.
Baby woke up shortly after, this time with cries from the hunger pangs in her tiny belly, demanding to be fed like we were. I prepared her bottle, sat and supported her on my lap, her arms flexed tight against her hips and hands clenched like she was in a Karate stance, staring into the distance as she breathlessly chugged her milk down.
She drank to her fill and let out a loud BURP before relaxing, her arms loosely falling beside her hips, palms wide open, whole body limp like she was drunk out of her wits.
That was my time to play with her…maybe tease her a little bit.
But before I could start, as I held her and looked, I got lost gazing into her eyes, marveling at her and soaking in the moment…a brief moment of silence as time seemed to slow down and there was no one else in the room.
All of a sudden, SNORT!
She snorted and her nostrils looked like someone stuffed some miniature cotton balls in them.
“Eww,” I was about to tease her before looking for something to clean her nose with. I looked into her eyes to say it…and something seemed off.
Her eyes had opened wider than usual. A second later, her eyeballs wanted out of their sockets. She looked terrified as her whole body got rigid…and progressed to get rock-hard stiffness like she was being electrocuted.
“OH SNAP! She can’t breathe!” I realized, almost in a panic.
“Baby! Baby! Baby!
I quickly scrambled, shifting her from my left arm to my right one belly first, facing down, and rapidly thumped on her back with my left hand.
“Breathe, baby! Breathe!”
Five hard thumps in and “WAAAAAH!”
She let out a wail louder and more terror-stricken than earlier at the doctor’s office, as more snort that was stuck in her windpipes burst out of her mouth and nose down to the floor.
I turned her over to make sure she’s completely out of the woods, before holding her close for comfort and assurance. “It’s ok, baby. I got you,” I whispered in her ear repeatedly as I took her to the room and paced back and forth with her, shaken to the core myself. She felt safe and calmed down soon enough, seemingly exhausted too.
“Babe, the delivery’s here,” my wife gently interrupted as she offered to carry our daughter. Talk about decent timing. I had to go downstairs to collect the groceries we had ordered online earlier that day.
The short trip seemed like an eternity as I tried to process what had just happened and what I was feeling. It was hard to tell then. I had only slept three hours the previous night and I was exhausted.
“You were trying to stay calm, but I could tell that something was wrong,” my wife told me when I got back.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you see how I came running?”
“Yeah, I saw that.”
“I feel like crying but I’m not able to right now,” she said as our daughter slipped into a deep slumber on her shoulder.
“Me too,” I said, pacing back and forth across the living room, to the bedroom, to the kitchen, looking for something to do to calm me down.
After putting our daughter safely to bed, my wife joined me in the kitchen, where I was wrapping up with cleaning. We hugged each other in silence for a moment before she prayed,
“Lord, we thank you for keeping her.”
“Amen,” is all I could mutter.
And just like that…peace!
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God bless you.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Alessio Soggetti on Unsplash
