Falls of Shame

by Cathy

As mothers raising babies, we've all done things we are not proud of.

These could have been intentional/purposeful (letting your baby cry while you...gasp! finished a much-needed shower) or accidental (locked your baby in the car with your keys on a hot summer day.) I am ashamed to say, I have done both.

The car incident was particularly scary; thank goodness for my chance encounter with a police car that happened to be cruising the store parking lot that day.

However, I've had two moments of motherhood shame that, for a long time, I didn't even tell my husband about for fear of being reprimanded because I wasn't with the baby 1,000% of every second of every minute of every day.

Bella was about four months old and we had one of those wind-up swings in our kitchen to entertain her, which she looooved. She was such a good, quiet baby for the most part and this night, I was having a particularly good time with her - we were playing, singing and having typical mom/baby fun.

It was time for her to eat. I placed her in her swing (basically a chair with a lap strap to hold her in while she rocked back and forth) and turned to reach for the can of formula.  At that precise moment, I quickly realized that I didn't strap her in. Before I could turn, I heard a thump that made my stomach sink, followed by her baby wail, all within seconds. As I turned towards her, of course milliseconds too late, I saw her laying on her back on the hardwood floor near the metal tubing of the base with the swing swaying gently above her.

I lunged towards her and carefully scooped her up in my arms. She was screaming and wailing as I walked her around the house examining her head, pacing, crying, apologizing, crying, worried, distraught, pissed, replaying how it happened in my head over and over. I concluded that she must have leaned forward, causing the swing to inch backwards and fallen directly onto her head, flipped, and landed on her back. I got sick to my stomach picturing that fall. I wouldn't put her down the rest of the night and even slept with her to make sure she didn't have some sort of internal head injury. I didn't sleep a wink as I wept over her, praying she was okay. And I never told a soul - except, of course, my mom. I knew she could commiserate with me.

Arianna was eight months old and much fiestier than her sister. I had put her down to sleep for the night in her playpen, which was in our bedroom. Her sister slept in the other room. I was also 'training' her to fall asleep on her own, (i.e. without us laying in the room with her). So I said 'nite nite', closed the door and went into the kitchen, which was adjacent to that room, to wash the dishes. I heard her crying, then wailing and I remember going in there a few times and saw her little fingers gripping the sides of the playpen as she stood and peeked desperately over to me with those big,watery, brown eyes. I comforted her but still wanted her to fall asleep on her own. So I just let her cry it out until she got tired and fell asleep. But she didn't fall asleep.

She fell OUT. Of her playpen. And onto the floor. She pushed on those little toes with all her might, enough to position her upper body over the railing, lose her balance and somersault out and land hard on the carpet - thank God for the carpet.

I ran from the kitchen and burst in to find her in eerily the same position as I had found Bella when she fell. I felt horrible. Once again, I scooped her up, reliving the same physical motions and sickening emotions as that night with Bella. I cried, I kept checking her head, I paced, I didn't tell my husband. I layed with her to sleep that night, and again, prayed.

The other night there happened to be a report on the news that highlighted the dangers of playpens and cribs and how some babies fall out of them. There was even a little girl who had gotten terrible internal head injuries from her playpen fall. I froze as I watched that segment, knowing full well that something horrible like that could have happened to one of my babies, and worse, on MY watch. Thank God it didn't.

Regardless, the mom guilt of having those instances even occur, will never leave me. And if you don't understand that, then well, you must have been dropped on your head as a child.