Recently I've been nursing Gretchen to sleep in her own little bed, in her own little room. She'll sleep til sometime past midnight before waking up and coming to snuggle with her mama. On this particular night, however, when I went to open her bedroom door to fetch her around 2am, the door wouldn't budge. At this point she was a little teary and getting more upset because she knew I was just outside her room. I tried the door again -- stuck. Nothing. I can't imagine that she'd have somehow locked it from the inside, but I suppose stranger things have happened.
Panic struck and grew as my poor little babe sobbed on the other side of the door and I couldn't get to her. I had these images of breaking the door down somehow, or ripping the handle off as her cries got louder and louder. It was awful. I pushed and pulled the door knob until my palms were sore. (I actually woke up the next day with a bruised hand because of this). All of the thoughts flying through my brain were of the "you're a terrible mother" persuasion and I was feeling incredibly frustrated.
Thankfully I'm fairly creative and handy when it comes to things like this (one friend once said I could solve any problem by using items within a five foot radius of myself), and so -- as soon as I calmed down a moment, I found something to turn the innards of the handle with and eventually the door popped open.
On the other side of the door was a teary faced babe, confused and upset. I'm sure she couldn't fathom why it took me SO LONG to free her from her room, but she quickly quieted down as I wiped away her tears, and hugged her for a long, long time. Soon after she fell asleep again, at my breast, in our big bed.
I really hope, with every fibre of my being, that even when I'm struggling desperately to reach my child -- in whatever way -- that she knows I'm always trying my hardest.
