Setting: Throughout the night, Charlie has inexplicably awoken every hour crying, falling back asleep only after we rock him in the crib. We moved the clocks back several days ago, and he still won’t sleep in past the 4. a.m. hour. I am exhausted.
Minutes ago, I returned to bed after rocking him to sleep once again. Through the monitor, I hear him begin to whimper and toss-and-turn. Ugggggh, I think.
Then, suddenly, silence.
Mental acrobatics, begin:
Why did the noise stop? Is something wrong?
I really don’t want to get out of bed again. I’m sure he’s fine….
But, what if he’s suffocated in his blanket? Or choked on his saliva? Why, oh why, did we turn off the breathing sensor in his monitor?! Who cares if it was going off several times a night for no reason! This is our child’s safety we’re talking about.
I’ll wait a few minutes. I’m sure he’ll move around again and I’ll hear it through the monitor.
Come on kid, give me something!
I’m just being catastrophic. He’s fine, probably sound asleep. If I go upstairs, I run the risk of really waking him up. And it’s so earrrrrrly. I’m so tired. It’s so coooold. He’s fine.
But think of how you’ll feel if something really is wrong. You had the chance to save your child’s life from a smothering blanket and instead you selfishly stayed in bed. What a terrible mother you are!
Time: 4:28 a.m.
Alright, I’m going to sneak upstairs and peek into his room, just to make sure he’s breathing. He’s fine. I can always slip back into bed.
I climb the stairs, creep over to his room, slowly open the door, and peek in.
Charlie immediately stirs, sits up.