A few days ago we were going about our business, all of us sprawled across our bed, enjoying some family time. We’ve recently started giving the boy a bit of apple juice in his bottle, to help with his, um, bodily functions. Transitioning to solid food can stop a kid up somewhat.
He was lying in between us, holding his own bottle. That’s a trick he’s been enjoying for a while now, although he’s been doing it more frequently in the last couple of weeks.
Something changed, something was different and it caught my attention. He made a strange noise. I looked up and he started flailing his arms, his face turning red. I grabbed him and sat him up and started pounding his back. He spit up some drool and juice.
And then he started breathing again. A little bit after that, so did I.
As I had reached for him, John noticed something off as well, telling me to sit him up right now. We both caught it at the same instant, this feeling that it – that something – wasn’t right. It was only a second or two, but that motion of grabbing him up and smacking him on the back is ingrained in my brain.
I didn’t panic. I didn’t freak out. I just did what I needed to do. It was later, as I thought about it, that I realized the gravity of what had happened, what could have happened. It reminds me that we need to be present and conscious when we’re with our children, and just be in tune with them.
Now that it’s all over, though, I’m glad he’s okay and that it was nothing major. Still, watching your little guy’s eyes go wide in panic when he can’t breathe? Not good times. Having him laugh and smile just moments later like nothing happened? A lot better.