Yesterday, I gathered vegetable scraps, leaves, and lawn clippings, filling our compost almost 3/4 of the way.  Together, Lorelei and I took turns dumping the matter into the bin and then took a stroll through the garden in an attempt to teach her how to not trample the produce beginning to make its way up.  Then, we sat on the brick patio as I filled our bird feeders and Lorelei investigated the fallen seeds against the bricks.  We practiced counting, numbering each flower and shoe and bug that lay in our path.  We laughed and giggled and tickled and made faces til our cheeks hurt.  And soon, it was naptime.  I changed her from the cloth diaper to a night time diaper and tucked her beneath her pink strawberry sheets.

There was a thump from another room, and as I kissed Lorelei, I wondered what it was the cats had gotten into.  I could hear Aurora as she began to cry and my chest began to hurt, letting me know it was time to feed her again.

Smiling, I opened the door from one child’s room to the next.  Adjusting my eyes to the light difference, confusion embraced me.  Aurora’s cry was louder now, but it wasn’t coming from the middle of the bed where we’d left her nestled in a Queen sized space.  It sounded almost like it was coming from beside the bed.  My heart stopped – and then, it proceeded to fall out of my body.  The blanket that had covered Aurora no longer held the shape of her little body and lay a little too flat against the bed.  I pushed the nausea and panic back as I rushed around the bed.  She lay on her side, too close to the bedside table, her arms and leges flailing and her little cries penetrating my soul.

I scooped her tiny body into my arms and she immediately stopped crying as she snuggled her head into my neck, pulling me closer with her tiny arm.  I looked her over carefully, taking note of her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and focus.  I wiggled her arms and legs carefully, making sure everything moved smoothly without pain.  Although everything seemed fine, I couldn’t push the gruesome thoughts lurking behind my brain – What if she has a brain bleed?  What if it’s an internal bleed?  What if it’s something I can’t see right now and we think she’s okay but she isn’t.  What if I’m holding her now but what if …

I dialed the physician’s number and exhaled, realizing as I pushed “3″ by the voice menu prompt that I had been holding my breath.  There was no answer.  Just an answering machine.

Cradling Aurora in my arms, I rocked her back and forth as I nursed her.  She’d stopped crying long ago, but it was me who needed the comfort.  Babies weren’t supposed to roll and crawl, yet.  At 4 weeks, they’re supposed to be fairly immobile.  4 week old babies just aren’t supposed to fall off the bed….

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(NOTE:  Aurora is fine.  The nurse called back and after answering a checklist of questions about her physical appearance and reactions, she told us we’d just need to watch the soft spot for bulging (a sign of bleeding and swelling).  But, she is fine.  Praise God.)

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