When my little one was just two days old, the pediatrician made a point of visiting my hospital room—something I assumed was standard for all first-time mothers. She leaned in and warned me that if I brought my son into bed, the risk of rolling over and smothering him was all too real. “Just don’t do it. Terrifying things can happen,” she said ominously.
More terrifying than accidentally suffocating him? Yikes. And thus began my journey into the overwhelming fears of motherhood.
Naturally, despite the warnings, he found his way into our bed. Breastfeeding every hour and a half for nearly forty-five minutes made it nearly impossible for me to stay awake. I would doze off during those late-night feedings, only to wake in a panic, haunted by visions of that pediatrician hovering above me. WHERE IS MY BABY? WHAT HAVE I DONE?
To my relief, I would find him happily nestled against me, fast asleep and breathing soundly.
When he turned six months old, we moved into a brownstone during the dead of winter, and let’s just say the heating situation was less than ideal. The anxiety of him freezing in his crib surpassed my fear of rolling over onto him, so he started sharing our bed.
This shift simply changed my nightly worries from, “I’ll suffocate him” to “my husband might accidentally cover him with a pillow.” The warnings were relentless: “Only a breastfeeding mother should co-sleep! Only she can protect the baby from rolling over and suffocating!” I might not be quoting verbatim, but you get the gist—parenting literature can be quite alarming.
One night, in my attempt to be the vigilant breastfeeding mom, I woke up to find half of my child under my husband’s pillow. My husband was blissfully unaware, and parental guilt washed over me. I spent the rest of the night wide awake, tormented by the thought of my negligence.
The next day, determined to rid myself of the guilt, I attempted a shower. Little did I know how challenging it would be to find a moment of privacy with a newborn. The bathroom break felt like an impossibility, and I feared that stepping away, even for a split second, would lead to a tragic mishap: “Oh, that poor baby! If only his mother hadn’t needed to use the bathroom!”
In those early days, he was still small enough to nap in his car seat—a time before the countless warnings against it. He loved that car seat, and we had no issues keeping him snugly secured. I would wait for him to drift off and then make a beeline for the bathroom.
About a minute into my shower, my maternal instincts kicked in, and I dashed out—naked and dripping—to find my son precariously perched halfway out of the car seat, his legs dangling and chin tucked into his chest, in a position that could only be described as choking.
What was wrong with me? I couldn’t fathom how teenagers manage to keep babies alive. I recalled the documentary “Babies,” where Mongolian nomads tie their toddlers to a bedpost while they leave for the day—and those kids survive!
It dawned on me that the pediatrician’s warnings weren’t malicious; they were simply meant to instill a necessary sense of caution. How else could one convey the immense responsibility of caring for another life than to suggest you might inadvertently endanger it while you sleep? Hooray for motherhood!
And that’s enough for today—just saw my toddler trying to swallow a quarter.
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In summary, the journey through early motherhood is filled with fears, unexpected challenges, and a whole lot of learning. From sleepless nights to parenting guilt, every moment contributes to the chaotic yet rewarding adventure of raising a child.