Mama Bear

So I'm watching the Grey's Anatomy/Private Practice combo on Friday night (we DVR everything so we can watch it without commercials). At one point this woman comes in with her pink-bedecked baby looking all sorts of adorableness, and it becomes obvious that the mother is upset because she walked out of the bathroom to get the phone WHILE HER CHILD WAS IN THE BATHTUB. Which, well, duh, stupid idiot, IGNORE THE PHONE. But this woman was obviously exhausted and it became apparent throughout the episode that she was not only sleep deprived, but also suffering from not just post-partum depression, but post-partum PSYCHOSIS. 'Cause that sounds fun.

Anyway, the baby is fine, but the woman, despite needles from acupuncture sticking out of her face which are designed to keep her from losing her shit, becomes increasingly disturbed, and, well, in the midst of losing her shit, admits that she held her daughter under the water, "Just for a minute, so I could maybe get some sleep" and let me tell you, I experienced something I have never experienced before.

You know how mothers are said to be able to lift cars off of their children after an accident? It's supposedly called the "mother bear" effect, or something. Well, I didn't have to lift any cars, thank god, but I did immediately get off the couch (I was knitting. Can you believe that? I was in the midst of knitting a blanket for my baby.) and notwalkRUN to Emma's room. I promptly pulled the blanket off of her, lifted my (sleeping. She was SLEEPING and I woke her up.) baby girl from her crib, and sat down in the rocker and proceeded to rock her back and forth, practicing my deep-breathing exercises. It was like my body was so physically and morally opposed to that idea of THAT WOMAN holding her baby under the water that I couldn't even control my own limbs, my body had to go check on my baby to make sure that she wasn't being held under water. It took my brain five minutes to catch up and go, "Holy shit, Marci, calm the eff down."

After I had rocked Emma back to sleep and fought back some tears, I put her back to bed and checked on Alex, who of course was just as peacefully sleeping in his bed.

But at least now I know that if there is ever a threat to my kids, my body will react accordingly. Even if it takes my brain a few seconds to catch up. Which, all in all, is probably a good thing.

I'd probably spend an hour analyzing the best way to approach the situation, and then waffle on the decision I'd made until someone else made the decision for me. I'm just glad my body isn't that analytical.