Page 127 of Pregnant in Plaid
"It should feel life-saving," Linda says.
"It feels like I'm kissing a doll."
"Would you rather kiss a doll or watch your daughter choke?"
"Doll. Definitely doll." He does the rescue breaths. The doll's chest rises obediently. "How do I know if it's working on an actual baby?"
"You'll see the chest rise, just like this. And hopefully, the baby will start breathing again."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Keep going until paramedics arrive. But honestly, if you're doing it right, most babies respond quickly." Linda turns to me. "Patrice, your turn."
I slide into Trace's spot and stare at the doll. It stares back with dead plastic eyes. "This is deeply unsettling."
"Just remember: thirty compressions, two breaths, repeat. You got this."
I got this. Sure. I'm a woman who color-codes her closet and alphabetizes her spice rack. I can handle infant CPR. Probably.
I start compressions. The doll clicks. Good doll.
"Harder," Linda coaches.
I press harder. More clicking. I'm basically a doctor now.
"Great! Now the breaths."
I lean down and immediately understand Trace's hesitation. This is weird. But I do it anyway because the alternative is my daughter not breathing, which is significantly weirder and infinitely worse.
The doll's chest rises. I did it. I saved a plasticlife.
"Excellent work, both of you," Linda says, making a note on her clipboard. "You're now certified in infant CPR. Hopefully you'll never need it, but you're prepared if you do."
"What about choking?" Trace asks, because apparently we're not done catastrophizing.
"Different technique. Let me get the choking doll?—"
"There's a choking doll?" I interrupt.
"There's a whole collection of emergency dolls. This one's my favorite." Linda pulls out another doll, this one with a removable grape lodged in its throat. "So if your baby is choking and can't cry or cough?—"
"How do we know she's choking if she can't make noise?" Trace asks.
"When she gets older, she'll make the universal sign of choking." Linda demonstrates, hands at her throat.
"Our daughter is three weeks old. She can't make hand signals."
"Fair point. Look for these signs: unable to cry, turning blue, weak or no cough, difficulty breathing." Linda flips the doll over and demonstrates back blows. "Five back blows between the shoulder blades, then five chest thrusts, repeat until the object dislodges or help arrives."
I watch, taking mental notes, trying not to think about all the ways my daughter could die despite my best efforts.
"Any questions?"Linda asks.
"About a million," I say. "But I've forgotten them all because I'm too busy panicking."
"That's normal too. You'll both do great." She hands us certificates that officially declare us capable of not killing our child. "See you at the feeding class in an hour."
The feeding class is taught by a lactation consultant named Suzy who has the energy of someone who's had way too much coffee and the passion of someone who believes breast milk can cure world hunger.
