This appears to be a day of deeply moving stories. The first hero may have been the little boy.
The Solitary Cook

I have often had that very thought. I wish I could thank him now. He would be 11 or 12, I guess. ❤

You know what else…almost any other day, I would have planned my daughter’s activity around nap time, because I really hated to be out and about with the baby during his nap. But there was a special something going on that day ( I’ve since forgotten what it was) and so I reluctantly juggled his routine around.

Had I not, he would have been lying flat on his back, in his crib, just like we’ve been lectured by NIH for the last 20 years to do to keep them safe. And he would have lay there and drowned on his own blood.

The docs say it would probably have just pooled up in his lungs instead of the violent explosion we saw with him propped at 45 degrees.

Silent and invisible and I would have lost him.

Isn’t that something?

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