I read a news story the other day about a woman who had the hospital bring her the wrong baby. She nursed, held, and loved on that baby for three hours before realizing her mistake.
"GREEN BAY, WI -- A Green Bay, Wisconsin mom wants answers after she says she was taking care of the wrong baby for almost three hours at a local hospital. Her son, Henry, was given to another couple for several hours after he was born at Saint Mary's Hospital in Green Bay four months ago. Instead, she was given the other couple's infant.
She was told by the hospital it was a "breech in protocol," after the wrong crib with the wrong baby was brought to her just a day after her delivery.
Now she wants to know who had her baby while she was nursing someone else's child."
The same thing kind of happened to me.
When Miss Lulu was born she looked like this:
24 hours later she looked like this:
But at some point in between, a nurse took Lulu to run some tests and then wheeled her back to me a couple hours later. She'd been staying in my room with me almost since she was born and this was the longest we'd been apart. It was about 1am when the door opened and the nurse came in, pushing the baby cart to the side of my bed. "Sounds like she's hungry!" the nurse chirped.
That baby doesn't sound right, I thought.
I looked at the baby in the clear plastic container.
It was wrapped in a blanket that didn't look the same as the one that Lulu left wearing.
It had darker hair than Lulu left wearing.
It came in with a penis.
"That's not my baby," I said to the departing nurse.
She abruptly looked up and ran over to my bed where she compared the band on my wrist and then the band on the baby's ankle.
"OH!" she gasped, "You're right!"
Of course I'm right, I thought, I know my baby.
"That's why we check the bands!" said the nurse, presumably to herself.
"Mmm," I frownsmiled, "We have enough penises at our house, take that one away."
While I can certainly feel sympathy for this mother who was brought the wrong baby, I, uh, knew immediately that my changeling was the wrong baby. He was different than Lulu. I don't know if that mother was well-medicated, or exhausted, or whatever, but it took her three hours to figure out it wasn't her baby?
I'm just sayin'...
After re-reading the story, it seems that the mother knew something was wrong with that baby, but it took the hospital officials coming in and explaining about the switch for her to realize it was because that baby wasn't her son.
If you have a baby in a hospital, make sure that the nurses check the bands, OK? Also, memorize your baby so that if you have to identify her from a line up, you can. And if it's not your baby, practice saying this,
"YO, THAT IS NOT MY BABY."
Maybe those home-birthers are onto something.