3 Minutes of Horrible.

My girls room still have boxes in their room's closet. Unfortunately, the closet door doesn't shut. My older daughter, Lilah, is in a toddler bed and loves to go exploring at night. Yesterday during the girls' naptime, Lilah took it upon herself to take out all the boxes and dump them out. She then decided to throw anything uninteresting into Cecelia's crib. 


Shortly after that, I heard a little bit of movement over the monitor and went to get the girls out of bed. Sure, the mess was annoying but no big deal really. I made Cecelia a bottle and sat down to give it to her while Lilah played with some toys. As soon as Cecelia swallowed some formula, she began to choke. Which didn't really phase me to be honest. She "chokes" on her formula all the time from swallowing too fast. So I just sat her up and patted her back. 


However, this time, she didn't just cough and reach for her bottle again. She just kept trying to gag, or cough, or breath. To do anything. So my CPR training kicked in and I flipped her over, patting her back and then alternately trying to clear her airway with my finger. My finger wasn't long enough to feel anything. I started screaming for my husband who was downstairs. He didn't respond so as I kept hitting her back I ran down stairs yelling, "She's not breathing!" over and over. He grabbed her and tried hitting her back more and then put his finger in her mouth. Finally she threw up and out came a hard piece of royal blue hard plastic. Roughly, the size of a quarter. She kept throwing up but now it was tinged with blood. Finally, she stopped and started crying. 


I have never been SO happy to hear one of my babies cry. We took her to the ER for X Rays to make sure a piece hadn't aspirated into her lungs. She was fine and her throat was no longer actively bleeding. The doctor said we did everything right. 

It was the worst, most terrifying three minutes of my life. That feeling will stay in my mind forever, I just hope I never experience something that triggers it again. 


Now I have to work on my husband's feelings of blame pointed at me then it can all be behind me. Being able to say that on a blog no one follows is nice. It means I can put my feelings "out there" but not truly have any negative repercussions from it. 

Memories: Cruel Yet Dear.

Yesterday, I was feeling a little sleepy. The girls were napping so it seemed the perfect moment to close my eyes and catch a few zzz's... As my eyelids drifted shut, I found myself back in my parents house. I walked through the foyer, glancing at myself in the mirror to the right. I turned to the left and slipped off my shoes then stepped off the hardwood over the threshold and onto the cool cement. I could see the red swirling motion the floor seems to give off. I saw the leaf print chair and ottoman sitting in the corner in front of the giraffe dad came home with one year from Africa. To my immediate left I saw the cream colored chair. I could see my porcelain doll sitting on the floor behind it, which was actually broken in the move. I looked to my right and saw the leather couch with a few faint kitty claw marks I hadn't been able to cover with pledge when Rae snuck home a kitten. Further still, the plaid couch now sitting in my downstairs livingroom. If I thought really hard I could see my sister asleep on the couch while Lilah pulled at her hair saying "Mo Mo!" I walked along the back wall and ran fingers across the DVD's and books to the rooms. I glanced into my parents room, no one was there. They must have been at work. I turned to the right and walked into my old room and glanced down at the purple stains in the cream colored carpet where I'd accidentally flung Violet something or other when my mom and I were attempting to clear up Cecelia's thrush. At that point I heard the front door open and mom and dad walk in. Mom walked into the kitchen and hung up the keys, pausing to set her purse on the counter beside the coffee pot. Dad went into the living room where Lilah immediately beelined for him. That was were the memory ended. I opened my eyes looking around my own livingroom, full of furniture that I loved picking out. As my eyes teared up, and I wished for the millionth time that I could just appear back in North Carolina. So. As dear and near to my heart as those memories are, they are even more cruel. Sometimes I wish I had moved away right after high school. I wish I had moved when I got married. Really any time before I had children. Watching Lilah get so attached to grandparents to just get torn away and relocated across the country. It doesn't seem fair to me. There's the cruel.