I have vivid memories of Mr. Grouch, in his college apartment, during muggy summer months. I can picture him, stripped down to his whitie tighties, sprawled across his twin bed, with the oscillating fan one centimeter from his toes, the soggy air leaving him too lethargic to move. A sexy, sweaty, beast. The two of us are different in so many ways but in this way we are oh so much the same. Wait, not in the sweaty beast way. Well, actually, yes, in the sweaty beast kind of way. What I mean is, neither one of our bodies can adequately handle the oppressive heat of July, August, September. Our air conditioning runs on high all summer long and we keep our home chilled enough to be able to walk around the house in jeans and hoodies. We do not like to be sweaty beasts.
So, when Baby Grouch was born, in the fierceness that is August, as ridiculous as it seems, we felt the need to put a little heater in her bedroom. You turn on the heater, and then set it to the appropriate temperature, which, in our case, was around 71 degrees, and it has it’s own internal thermostat. At the time of this episode, Baby Grouch was a couple of months old and was sleeping 3-4 hours at a stretch.
The first night she slept for 6 hours, I woke up, in a panic. I got that surge of adrenaline that I had become so accustomed to, every time she woke me with her squeaks and squawks, but this time it was because she was quiet.
IS SHE OKAY?
Shrouded with the fear of sudden infant death syndrome, I hurried to her room, and opened the door and a wave of heat hit me in the face.
Then the REAL panic started.
OMG OMG OMG IT’S TOO HOT OMG OMG OMG I COOKED MY BABY OMG OMG GREATER RISK FOR SIDS WHEN IT’S TOO HOT OMG OMG I COOKED MY BABY “HUN! GET UP! THE BABY’S TOO HOT. TOOO HOOOOTTT!”
I was screaming and yelling and flipped on all the lights; I opened the windows and took Baby Grouch from her crib and removed her from the sweltering room and laid her in the hallway all the while still yelling panicked nonsense at my husband. I unswaddled her and took her teeny tiny body out of the sack. My heart was pounding out of my ears. Just because she feels warm right now, doesn’t mean she’s okay.
She opened her eyes.
OMG OMG OMG “SHE’S OKAY! SHE’S OKAY!” I’m still screaming. Out loud, not just in my head.
This all happened within a matter of seconds and Mr. Grouch wasn’t even out of bed yet. Er…he may or may not have been laying in bed, watching me silently while giving me the, you’re-such-a-freaking-crazy-hormonal-wife-I-don’t-even-know-what-to-do-with-you-right-now look. He said calmly, “I think you forgot to set the thermostat on the heater”. Indeed, I did. It was over 80 degrees in that bedroom (probably 20 degrees warmer than the rest of the house) and for weeks I was sick about it.
Looking back, I think about that college apartment in the summer and how we didn’t have central air. I realize that many people, in summer months, allow their houses to reach heinously high temperatures (and some even enjoy it. What??). Some of them probably even have babies that sleep there with them, that are okay.
What panicky sleep stories do you have of your newborn?