clashctyrkr mentioned this in comments to nhinx's LJ. Made me remember...

It was a Friday night and we were living in SF. Alex was asleep on our bed (he slept with us until he was.... 6 months old? or thereabouts), we had placed pillows near him to keep him on the bed. He was just starting to roll a bit, and we didn't want him to roll off the bed onto the floor. We thought we were keeping him safe.

Mike was on the computer. I was in the living room getting ready to watch Millennium. I hadn't seen it yet and was determined that that night I was finally gonna see it. The show was about to come on when I told Mike that I was going to bed. "Already?" Yep, said I. I walked down the hall, glanced at the bathroom, thought, "I should brush my teeth." then dismissed it, deciding to ignore that daily habit. Walked into the room and found that my baby had pulled one of the pillows, a heavy feather one, over his face. I pulled it off of him, registering the sweat on the sheets where he had struggled, and yelled for Mike. Alex was pale, breathing shallowly. His pupils were enormous. There was no color in his face.

I sat in the back of the car with him as we raced to the hospital (why didn't it occur to us to call 911?), praying the whole way, telling him to breathe. I went in with the baby while Mike parked. I was thinking to myself, "Heavens, I'm so calm. They're going to think I don't care or something. I should be in hysterics right now."

To be honest I wasn't calm, I felt completely removed from my body and like I was moving through water - it was all dreamlike and surreal. This must have showed on my face because the nurse at the check in window took one look at my face and before I finished explaining what had happened, we were rushed into the ER.

Anyway, they checked his oxygen levels and his breathing returned to normal, color came back to his face and he tried to play with the stethoscope. We were sent back home with an all's well. After that, his naps were in his much hated crib or with a parent laying beside him.

If I had stopped to brush my teeth, or gods help me, watch that fucking show, that would have been it. I don't think I would have ever stopped blaming myself. I still feel as though I failed him, even though he got through and he's okay. I think if he had left us that night, I would have gone right after him.

Today boychild and I played basketball. He's horrible at it and cares not a bit. I gave him what very few tips I have for playing the game, and he gave me some too. He said he had a great time. I liked seeing his smile.

He's okay.

I wish I had the ability to say what's going through my mind, the gratitude, the fear, the friends I have who had times when they too thought they were going to lose their children, and the beloved friend I have who actually did. A thousand thoughts and emotions, all crowding each other, all deserving of attention.

For now, though, for now, I'm not going to try to sort it all out here. I'm going to go watch a movie with my boy... A boy who has just informed me that he'd much prefer it if I'd just let him use the computer. heh!

I best let him get to it.

Love.