One afternoon, I sat gently swaying and patting my son’s back after nursing him. I allowed my hand to rest on his little back, as he breathed in and out.
When suddenly I heard what sounded like wheezing and crackling as he breathed. What was previously a moment of peaceful parenthood, now became a full-blown anxiety attack that went from zero to 60, as I frantically lay my ear on his chest to hear him breathe.
Something didn’t sound right. “He aspirated, I just know it,” I told my husband. He was just a couple of months old, my second born.
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