There’s a first time for everything.

There’s a first time for everything. Being a new mom, I get to experience so many new things with my daughter.

Last night, I experienced my first real scare with Daphne. She had been asleep and I lifted her out of her carseat where she was resting and laid her flat on the couch to change her diaper. I was busy changing her and I looked up to see that she had spit up and was choking. Immediately I lifted her and patted her back frantically to help her cough it out and breathe. She cried and I was never more relieved.

She didn’t sleep well last night and neither did Sam nor I. She seemed to be getting raspier and having troubles breathing, like a wheeze. I remember waking up around 5am and Sam and I holding a conversation about whether she had sleep apnea or if she was having trouble with spit up.

We woke up around 730 and she ate. An hour later, she threw up. She threw up again soon after. Another first time experience for me: A child who spit up.

Yet another first for me was hearing her cry. This cry was not a “I’m hungry” cry or “I’m tired.” No. It was an “I’m really not feeling good” cry. This cry is by far the most heartbreaking one I’ve heard. I could see in her eyes that she was feeling down and just not right. Sam and I got our act together and rushed over to Stat-Care at 9am when they opened. Here is Sam at the end of the line at 9:01. Busy place.


As I held Daphs, he slowly moved to the front and finally was seen by the receptionist. I heard some murmuring from the receptionist and shortly after Sam mentioned “2 months,” he was walking back towards me. He grabbed his bag and said “Let’s go. They can’t see her. They don’t see kids under 6 months.” So, we had waited in line at a sick clinic for 20 minutes for nothing. We called my mom to get her advice. She said that the on call doctor at her doctor’s office couldn’t see us because we weren’t patients already, so we decided to head to the ER.

There was no wait. We walked through the door just to walk into the ER triage room. We explained the situation and thankfully the nurse didn’t treat us like we were crazy overprotective first time parents. I can’t say the ER was a first time experience for me, as Sam had to go for his broken pinky last year!

They checked Daph’s weight and vitals. Daph weighed in at 9 pounds 13 ounces—5 ounces more than she weighed 2 weeks ago. YAY for gaining weight! Here we are waiting.


She started out okay, then she started fussing and just didn’t seem happy.


My sweet one. Seeing how tired and drained she was just broke my heart. There wasn’t anything I could do but hold her and just talk to her, love on her, and be with her. It’s a very helpless feeling.


The nurse ordered an x-ray. An x-ray tech came in and took a few shots of Daph’s lungs. Next, another nurse came in and told us that it looked like an upper respiratory infection. She prepared a breathing treatment. Daphne took the treatment well and the nurse listened to her breathing again after. It had improved. A prescription was written and we were sent on our way.

I tell ya…being helpless is not a feeling I like. Not one bit.

So, my dear daughter has to undergo a few breathing treatments daily. She’s wheezing and still not breathing right. She has spit up a few more times and it truly is heartbreaking. Her eyes are just so soft and not as bright as they usually are. I can tell that she just doesn’t feel good. Poor thing.

Daddy holding her up, trying to comfort her.


These shots were taken after a long silence in the room. I spoke up and she turned her head and just wouldn’t look away from where my voice had come.


Daphne last night. She was so attentive.


My sweet little one.



I’m not sure if the breathing treatments are helping her. I try different positions when I hold her. I sing to her and talk to her. She likes it best when she is laying down and I hold her hands and sing to her. I don’t mind doing that.

This helpless feeling is a first for me. I certainly don’t like it.

I realize that the whole point of parenting is to prepare a child to leave your reach. You teach them to walk and they inevitably walk away from you. You pour all your love into them so they can (hopefully) receive that love in return and see that love spread to others.

How bittersweet.


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