Tales From the Crib

This seems like a common refrain on our blog but do not read on if you are squeamish - or if you currently do not have children but would like to one day.

There will be no pictures for this post. While there are no pictures of the event in question - it will be forever seared into my memory.

It was a cold and windy afternoon. Stella and Isabel were sound asleep for the afternoon naps in their bedrooms and Abram was playing quietly (really he was watching cartoons but writing that makes me feel guilty so..), he was playing quietly while I was mixing up a batch of cookies.

All was well, I felt so good, so confident in my parenting skills (minus the cartoon watching). I should have known then that it was too good to be true.

I heard Isabel making noises so I went to the bottom of the stairs to see if it sounded like she would go back to sleep or wake up. Then....I heard Stella talking........then I heard Stella talking to Isabel.

I ran up the stairs as fast as my 5'4 body could go.

It was too late.

Isabel's door was ajar.

My heart stopped.

I wondered - was Stella hurting Isabel? Was she giving her small toys that would be choking hazards? Was she trying to pull her out of the crib. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.

Stella was in Isabel's crib. Naked. Feces was EVERYWHERE. I really mean everywhere. (actually it wasn't at all on Isabel which is a major miracle). After I vomited in my mouth -  I started screaming "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Stella, totally unfazed "I dunno"

I'm not sure how to end that story. I now live in a constant state of fear - more than usual. I think they may have to invent a new label for what I've gone through: PTMD, Post Traumatic Mothering Disorder.

To be continued...