By: Rachel Thompson
Dec. 31, 2016
At times, I find myself grappling with feelings of inadequacy as a mother, especially after raising my voice over trivial matters or resorting to the same mac and cheese with chicken nuggets for dinner for the third consecutive day. Other moments, I feel reassured that my children are fortunate to have me as their mother. However, I often find myself oscillating between these extremes, feeling that I could improve in countless ways, even while acknowledging there are parents who face greater struggles.
Life has a way of sending jolting reminders that shake me from this in-between state. These instances are rare but impactful, leaving a lasting imprint on my mind. They are the moments that make you want to envelop your children in protective warmth and keep them close forever. Like the time my daughter almost darted into the street or when my son nearly choked. In those instances, every ounce of maternal instinct surged to the forefront, and tears flowed as I felt overwhelming gratitude for the little ones I couldn’t imagine living without.
After such episodes, I often press my hand against my racing heart, steadying my breath while offering thanks to a higher power for sparing me from the unimaginable. It’s in these frightening moments that I realize my purpose: to love and shield my children, reminding myself that despite my perceived shortcomings, I am quite a remarkable parent.
One such intense reminder came when my twin toddlers, Ethan and Mia, were seated in their high chairs at the kitchen table. As I prepared for another round of “Who’s not eating lunch today?” a caretaker was tending to chores upstairs, while my older kids were at school. I was a mess, both physically and mentally, burdened by a long to-do list that included sorting bills and grocery shopping.
I set bowls of food in front of Ethan and Mia, urging them to eat. While I grabbed a stack of bills, I noticed Mia playing and chatting but Ethan was silent. “Ethan, buddy, are you alright?” I called out, but he didn’t respond. His little face appeared slack, and his head tilted unnaturally, as if he were about to drift off. Then I saw it—his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Call 9-1-1! My son isn’t breathing!” I screamed, panic clawing at me. I checked his throat for food while urgently unbuckling him from his chair.
“Ma’am, is he conscious?” the operator asked. I looked back at Ethan, whose skin had turned blue. “He’s not! Please, send help!”
Holding my limp child felt like an unbearable weight. In that moment, I had to remain focused, pushing aside the urge to panic. I hurried to the garage with Ethan in my arms, the sound of sirens growing louder in the distance. I was terrified—my son was in danger. As I cradled him, white foam appeared at the corners of his blue lips, and I felt the shock of reality.
Then, miraculously, his eyes fluttered open, and he started to breathe again. His color returned, and a wave of relief washed over me. I rushed outside to meet the EMTs, feeling the chill of the ground beneath my bare feet, but it hardly mattered.
As they took Ethan from my grasp, I succumbed to my fear and gratitude, breaking down on the gravel as tears streamed down my face. “You scared Mommy,” the EMTs gently reassured him as they prepared to check him out. I marveled at their kindness while processing the chaos that had just unfolded.
Ethan had experienced a febrile seizure, something I’d never heard of until that moment. It’s a common occurrence in children under six, but it remains terrifying for any parent. As we rode in the ambulance, my little boy lay there, blissfully unaware of the drama surrounding him. The EMTs assured me he was stable, providing a much-needed sense of calm.
I called home to check on Mia, then reached out to my husband, finally able to say, “Everything is okay now.” He rushed to the hospital, but I found comfort in simply being with Ethan. I wanted to absorb every moment—the warmth of his skin, the softness of his hair, and the relief of knowing he was alive.
While I now knew that the chances of a recurrence were significant, I also learned about a strength I never knew I possessed. For the next few years, I became hyper-aware of any signs of illness in Ethan, constantly checking for fevers and watching for fatigue. “Mommy, why are you staring at me?” he would ask, and I’d respond, “Because I love you more than anything.”
Fortunately, such stark reminders of love and fear are rare. Yet, it’s easy to get caught up in daily frustrations—meltdowns, messy homework, or stained shirts—and forget the profound reasons behind our parenting.
As I prepare another round of mac and cheese and nuggets for dinner, I’m reminded that it’s the love that truly matters.
For those navigating the path of parenthood, consider exploring resources like this intrauterine insemination guide for valuable insights, or read Emily and Jack’s journey for more inspiration. And if you’re interested in home insemination, check out our post on the at-home insemination kit to learn more.
In summary, unexpected emergencies can reveal hidden depths of strength within us as parents. Even in the chaos of daily life, it’s crucial to recognize the love that drives us to protect our children.