Scariest event of my life as a parent happened tonight.
I was walking into our living room with my little man trailing behind me when he tripped and fell on his back just before crossing the doorway.
Even though he didn't seem to hit anything when he fell, he wasn't able to stand; he was lying on his side trying to get up, his body rigid, mouth thrown open in a silent, breathless scream. I gingerly picked him up and looked for signs of injury, as he was obviously in excruciating pain, but none were visible. He began turning blue, unable to release his silent cry and take a breath.
My girls were sobbing, asking why he couldn't breathe, terrified for their baby brother. They'd seem him fall and stop breathing for a few seconds before - but *nothing* like this.
After what seemed like forever, he finally took a quick breath. He shuddered once, sighed slightly, then flopped forward on my chest. He was ashen, limp, his eyes rolling back, unable to hold up his head, unresponsive to my voice, but still breathing.
I told the girls we needed to keep it together for his sake, sent them to grab my keys, get their shoes on and meet me outside. I was mentally debating whether to drive straight to the hospital or call 911 (we live in the middle of the country, so it takes 15 minutes to get help or go to it).
Once we hit the outside air, he perked up quickly, gaining muscle tone & color, then starting to look around on his own, as the girls both ran out the door to meet us. As he seemed to be coming round to his normal self, I slowly knelt on the ground and put him down next to me to see if he
could walk or if any other injuries seemed to be present.
He was a little hesitant at first, but started taking a few steps, then caught sight of a cat, squealed and ran after her - like nothing had just happened.
We stayed outside following him about, watching him walk, picking him up and looking him over again to see if any signs of injury were present, but he looked fine - absolutely fine. I called my husband, my hands still shaking as I tried to dial his number, and filled him in, hugged the girls and routed them all into the house for chocolate and ice cream to lessen the trauma we'd just been through.
Needless to say, he didn't move an inch out of anyone's reach the rest of the night.
My best guess is that he got the wind knocked out of him and almost lost consciousness from the lack of oxygen. He's fallen at least a half dozen times this week alone, mainly because he's a monkey attempting to climb any and all vertical surfaces throughout our house, and all more significant than simply tripping. But tonight, he must have landed just the wrong way to cause this.
As he lays sleeping next to me, I'm so thankful we're a cosleeping family. I don't have to wonder if he's okay as he sleeps - I'll know at a glance as he snuggles into my side.
I'm also so thankful to have wonderful daughters who are so caring and nurturing toward their baby brother. They are the most compassionate siblings. The girls were so upset, they're piled together in Eden's bed for the night. Poor dears - I think it was harder on us than on him.
Why does all the drama happen when you're home alone with 3 kids? If I was a drinker, now would be the time for a good stiff one (or three), methinks.
Fingers crossed for a less eventful day tomorrow~