Spain Dad, a baby blog

We all have panic attacks. Which of us hasn’t checked our pockets for our wallets when we’ve left the front door or double-checked the times on our tickets at the airport or wondered whether we’ve left the water running or the door unlocked or the window open or the stove on. Which of us hasn’t walked into a public bathroom and wondered whether we walked into the wrong one, the one of the opposite sex.

I’ve done all of these things, more than once. Still, I’ve never panicked as much as after Alleke was born. She worries me. I wasn’t worried that she would get sick or that we would hurt her or that she would scream for the rest of her life. Instead, I kept things simple and worried about one thing. I worried Alleke would stop breathing.

Yesterday April was speaking about our life in Spain at a weekly women’s group called Coffee Break. The group meets at a church, so while April was speaking, I wandered around the building, keeping Alleke asleep by swinging her in her car seat.

The pastor of the church was in his office, so I stopped to chat. We got talking about globalization and other things, and I completely lost track of time.

At some point I realized I had forgotten about Alleke. I was still swinging her with one arm, but I hadn’t thought about it for a very long time. Alleke was hidden under a blanket, and I hadn’t heard a peep from her in over three hours.

I panicked, and I wondered if she was still breathing.

I pulled the blanket off her and set it on the floor. She didn’t move. I held my finger under her nose to see if I could feel warm air. I couldn’t.

I apologized. “Sorry,” I said, “I’m a new parent. I just realized I haven’t checked on my daughter for a while, and I got worried.”

I bent over the car seat and listened for Alleke breathing. I couldn’t hear anything.

At that point I felt less foolish and more worried. I felt sick instantly.

I shook Alleke’s arm, and she didn’t move. I lifted her eye lid with my thumb, and she just lay there. I sat back on my knees and took a deep breath, pulling my hair out of my face.

“I don’t know why she won’t wake up,” I said, looking at Alleke.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” the pastor said, kneeling down next to us.

I reached into the car seat and carefully, but quickly lifted Alleke out and removed her snow suit. I held her in my arms.

The copy machine from the room next door began to purr, and I could hear someone pressing the buttons. It sounded like a bird chirping.

Alleke stirred. Then she startled. She flinched every time she heard the sound, and she began to cry.

I held her close, then looked at the pastor and smiled.

For a moment, I felt as if my daughter’s life had been spared. She had been pried free from the jaws of death, and now, she was safe in my arms.

Soon, however, I realized where I was. I was on my knees in an office cradling my daughter in my arms with a man I had just met who was probably wondering what just happened.

I felt foolish once more, and wondered why I had woken my sleeping baby from a good nap.