NAMI - You are Not Alone — The Day I Found Monty Under The Bed.

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

The Day I Found Monty Under The Bed.

It had been months—MONTHS—since I’d seen Monty…and I wasn’t even looking for him. Yet, there amongst stray papers, an empty water bottle, dog toys, and the remote (the original reason I had looked under the bed), sat the small black monitor with the pretty large colored screen and panning capabilities, not only side to side but ALL around (top of the line). I realized that this was a sign of hope and recovery…and then I panicked.

Monitor had been my best friend for the last 4-5 years. After the initial year of sleeping with my hand to my daughter’s chest to make sure she was breathing every night, I would sleep with that monitor next to my head. I got used to the bright blue light and would watch it for hours waiting for movement. If my daughter moved, I could go to sleep. If she didn’t move, however, I would stay up until finally I would shake my husband awake and say, “She hasn’t moved. I’m just going to sneak in there. Do you think I should? I should, right? I should go check on her just in case.” To which he would usually reply, “No, that is, in fact, a very bad idea.” And to which I would reply, “You’re right. But I’m going to do it anyway.” And thus, that is how the next 2 years of my daughter’s life was spent. Monitor and I—who I nicknamed Monty—would wile away the hours, me staring at him and he staring back at me with his bright blue light shining in my eyes *le sigh*. But he knew it was his time to sleep when, and only when, Mia was safely in my arms and he could be shut off and retired until the next night.

One night, long ago, Monty fell under the bed after I had forgotten to even turn him on *gasp*! I hadn’t known it then, but I didn’t need him anymore and he was left to wallow in the depths beneath our sleeping bodies in the cesspool we call “under the bed”. I hadn’t thought about my friend for months. Now being on medication and regular therapy, learning how to control my panic (on most nights…I only caved once…and she’s so cute when she sleeps), I didn’t even realize that I didn’t need him. Finding him a few days ago spiraled a case of the What If’s: “What if other people think I don’t care about her as much as I used to! What if watching the monitor is the ONLY way to ensure her safety. What if, because I don’t watch it, someone will think I’m being irresponsible! OMG, I’m a horrible mother!!!”  Until reality kicked in and I realized, “Oh, this is different. This must be what they refer to as healing, maybe even recovery.” So you’re saying I can still love my child to the depths of my soul without losing my sanity? Great! Pop the cork and pour the bubbly, this mommy is ready to celebrate…but not too hard because, “What if I drink too much and she needs me! AND I sleep through her calling my name! AND she forgets how to get out of her bed and walk, even though she’s been getting up from her bed on her own for 2 years now….”

Yeah, what if?

Recovery is not perfection, it’s having the tools to get through the tough times and finding small moments to celebrate along the way. RIP Monty, forever in our hearts and under our bed.

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