CPR on the Fly
My birth story will have to wait yet another day due to my somewhat interesting afternoon. Today I took Eliza to my infant CPR class. This class was held at an upscale New York center that offers such things as lactation support groups (never done it), Mom and Me group (done it), french for a newborn group (never done it) and excercise with your baby. I chose this center due to it's close location and it's policy that allows, as they call it, "babes in arms."
Our session today was taught by a spry, 40ish woman I'll call Becky. I was one of only two women who brought her baby. There were three couples (one of these couples was still expecting), two other pregnant women, one nanny and several other career-looking Moms. I was one of the last to arrive as I've found getting out of the apartment for anything that starts at a certain time is quite challenging now. Eliza will never fail to decide she's hungry or indulge in a poopapalooza at that precise moment I'm trying to walk out the door. I entered the classroom, Eliza in Bjorn, and noticed small, surprisingly real looking baby dolls in front of each person. Gratified to see another woman with a babe, I took my seat on the floor and Becky started the class.
Becky had a lot of energy. This was apparent in the way she practically leapt from person to person and she passed out name tags and little booklets. She dove for her little dolly with the grace and poise of a young dancer with the New York City Ballet. She pushed down on the chest of her dolly with long, tapered fingers that have probably seen a lot of ribcages. With all this movement and sashaying, I couldn't fail to notice poor Becky's fly was wide open. We're not talking just unzipped here, we're talking gaping to reveal dark colored underwear open. It was impossible not to see it, not only for me who tends to notice little things, but by anyone merely paying attention because we were all sitting on the floor which placed Becky's fly at eye level. She'd sit on the birthing ball, legs spread and that zipper took the shape of an acorn squash. She'd lift her shirt to demonstrate the Heimlich Maneuver on her own belly (in quite good shape, I might add) and your eyes couldn't help but travel south.
Did I learn anything about infant CPR? I'd say between Eliza, who was quite good though she still required a good, long suck on each boob, and that gaper fly, I don't know that I did. I need to practice on Baby Tender Love at some point within the next week (this is my childhood doll that I still have an odd attachment for and C calls Chuckie). Maybe that's what I should be doing instead of writing in this blog. I can take you through the steps. First you try to wake the baby (and Becky doesn't recommend the shake and wake) by clapping, yelling and foot tickling. I'll say the waking techniques worked very well in waking Eliza who kept trying to nap on the floor mat in her little pink blanket surrounded by adults yelling, "Baby! Baby! Call 911!" and clapping. Then you tilt the chin back and pull the mouth open (a step all of us students could avoid as these dolly's mouths were permanently open), you press your left ear (if you're right handed) to see if you can hear breathing. If you don't hear breathing, you blow in two rescue breaths, then begin pumping the chest with just two fingers. The open palm is saved for children over age one, the double-handed chest press you see on tv shows like "ER," for adults.
So I guess I learned CPR but as all this was went on around me and we happily practiced on our dummies, I'd look over at Eliza, who drifted off to sleep after being aroused by our fake cries, and wonder if I'd have the strength to be there for her if something like this happened. Becky likened taking this class to carrying an umbrella on a sunny day--take it and it won't be necessary. When my eyes travelled from the limp dummy on my right to my sleeping daughter on my left, it was with tremendous satisfaction I noted her tiny chest move up and down. She was flat on her back, her arms spread out straight to her sides (this is also the position they put you in when you have a c-section), her little head tilted to the right. At one point, while everyone was practicing on dolly, I glanced at Eliza and smiled feeling such pride in her own perfection. I felt Becky's eyes on me and as I met hers, she mouthed the words "So cute."
I will practice on Chuckie, I mean on Baby Tender Love tonight because I'm a worrier and because I want to be there for Eliza if she needs me. This Mom thing is an all-out kind of thing for me. I know I can't do everything, but that's not from a lack of wanting to. You go your whole life without a child and then suddenly one comes and then you didn't have a life before this little person got here. When I go out without her, I can't say I miss her per se, I'm usually happy to be out on my own. But I find myself wanting to talk about her to everyone. I gravitate towards pregnant women or people in the children's section at Barnes and Noble because now I'm a member of their kind of club. If I'm talking to a salesperson, say at the Babies 'R Us registry desk, I manage to get my new Mom status into the conversation. I'm still here, all of me that existed before her, no I haven't lost any of that. It's just that now the person I was before her needs her in order to stay the same person I was before. Make sense, probably not, but that's okay, who's reading this anyway.
About halfway through the class Becky went to the bathroom and I'm happy to report she came back with her fly zipped up. Was she embarrassed? If so, she didn't look it. She went on and on about car seat safety and don't put the bouncy seat on the table and make sure your child wears that bike helmut. So many things to worry about and yet right now Eliza's placed on top of a high bed in another room with out my hand on top of her. It's precarious, I know, she could pick today to roll over. So let me get to that bed now. Let me rescue my child from what could be.
Our session today was taught by a spry, 40ish woman I'll call Becky. I was one of only two women who brought her baby. There were three couples (one of these couples was still expecting), two other pregnant women, one nanny and several other career-looking Moms. I was one of the last to arrive as I've found getting out of the apartment for anything that starts at a certain time is quite challenging now. Eliza will never fail to decide she's hungry or indulge in a poopapalooza at that precise moment I'm trying to walk out the door. I entered the classroom, Eliza in Bjorn, and noticed small, surprisingly real looking baby dolls in front of each person. Gratified to see another woman with a babe, I took my seat on the floor and Becky started the class.
Becky had a lot of energy. This was apparent in the way she practically leapt from person to person and she passed out name tags and little booklets. She dove for her little dolly with the grace and poise of a young dancer with the New York City Ballet. She pushed down on the chest of her dolly with long, tapered fingers that have probably seen a lot of ribcages. With all this movement and sashaying, I couldn't fail to notice poor Becky's fly was wide open. We're not talking just unzipped here, we're talking gaping to reveal dark colored underwear open. It was impossible not to see it, not only for me who tends to notice little things, but by anyone merely paying attention because we were all sitting on the floor which placed Becky's fly at eye level. She'd sit on the birthing ball, legs spread and that zipper took the shape of an acorn squash. She'd lift her shirt to demonstrate the Heimlich Maneuver on her own belly (in quite good shape, I might add) and your eyes couldn't help but travel south.
Did I learn anything about infant CPR? I'd say between Eliza, who was quite good though she still required a good, long suck on each boob, and that gaper fly, I don't know that I did. I need to practice on Baby Tender Love at some point within the next week (this is my childhood doll that I still have an odd attachment for and C calls Chuckie). Maybe that's what I should be doing instead of writing in this blog. I can take you through the steps. First you try to wake the baby (and Becky doesn't recommend the shake and wake) by clapping, yelling and foot tickling. I'll say the waking techniques worked very well in waking Eliza who kept trying to nap on the floor mat in her little pink blanket surrounded by adults yelling, "Baby! Baby! Call 911!" and clapping. Then you tilt the chin back and pull the mouth open (a step all of us students could avoid as these dolly's mouths were permanently open), you press your left ear (if you're right handed) to see if you can hear breathing. If you don't hear breathing, you blow in two rescue breaths, then begin pumping the chest with just two fingers. The open palm is saved for children over age one, the double-handed chest press you see on tv shows like "ER," for adults.
So I guess I learned CPR but as all this was went on around me and we happily practiced on our dummies, I'd look over at Eliza, who drifted off to sleep after being aroused by our fake cries, and wonder if I'd have the strength to be there for her if something like this happened. Becky likened taking this class to carrying an umbrella on a sunny day--take it and it won't be necessary. When my eyes travelled from the limp dummy on my right to my sleeping daughter on my left, it was with tremendous satisfaction I noted her tiny chest move up and down. She was flat on her back, her arms spread out straight to her sides (this is also the position they put you in when you have a c-section), her little head tilted to the right. At one point, while everyone was practicing on dolly, I glanced at Eliza and smiled feeling such pride in her own perfection. I felt Becky's eyes on me and as I met hers, she mouthed the words "So cute."
I will practice on Chuckie, I mean on Baby Tender Love tonight because I'm a worrier and because I want to be there for Eliza if she needs me. This Mom thing is an all-out kind of thing for me. I know I can't do everything, but that's not from a lack of wanting to. You go your whole life without a child and then suddenly one comes and then you didn't have a life before this little person got here. When I go out without her, I can't say I miss her per se, I'm usually happy to be out on my own. But I find myself wanting to talk about her to everyone. I gravitate towards pregnant women or people in the children's section at Barnes and Noble because now I'm a member of their kind of club. If I'm talking to a salesperson, say at the Babies 'R Us registry desk, I manage to get my new Mom status into the conversation. I'm still here, all of me that existed before her, no I haven't lost any of that. It's just that now the person I was before her needs her in order to stay the same person I was before. Make sense, probably not, but that's okay, who's reading this anyway.
About halfway through the class Becky went to the bathroom and I'm happy to report she came back with her fly zipped up. Was she embarrassed? If so, she didn't look it. She went on and on about car seat safety and don't put the bouncy seat on the table and make sure your child wears that bike helmut. So many things to worry about and yet right now Eliza's placed on top of a high bed in another room with out my hand on top of her. It's precarious, I know, she could pick today to roll over. So let me get to that bed now. Let me rescue my child from what could be.
posted by Litgirl Mama at 1:40 PM
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