4:30 am. Ronan finished a meal. Dressed and swaddled, he floated back into the bassinet. I crept back into bed. Cait fell asleep. I stared into the monitor to ensure Ronan did the same.

He rustled and chirped, so I scooped him up and brought him into bed. He lay on my chest and calmed, but didn’t fall asleep.

His breathing was raspy. Labored rather than congested. I rubbed his back. Switched him from one side of my chest to the other. From his back to his side. No relief for him. We lay in the dark, listening to the white noise machine.

7:00 am, dawn. Next feed. Ronan ate little. His eyelids were gray—a tell that he wasn’t full—and he had no interest in eating more.

8:00 am, I hovered over Ronan. Each inhale and exhale still carried a rasp. His eyelids were darker than before. Cait showered. I barged into the bathroom to tell Cait we had to take him to the hospital.

9:00 am, the hospital. Unpracticed parents, we juggled a car seat and go bags, and stumbled into the E.R. How are we six days in and back at the hospital? One that did not have a pediatric unit or a pediatrician in the E.R. Who would have guessed those were nice-to-haves and not requirements? We could check in or go to another hospital. It was another 20 minutes to where Ronan was born. We stayed and were shown to a bed. A doctor followed closely behind.

She cataloged Ronan’s vitals. Nothing raised her suspicion. She prodded around his abdomen. We described his symptoms. A belch erupted from below and cut off our frantic rambling. We looked down to find a pleased and hungry newborn.

The doctor took another moment to ensure nothing else was wrong, gave us a reassuring smile, and moved on. I knelt next to the bed. With nerve-racked hands, I dressed Ronan and prepped a bottle. The room blurred. Six hours of anxiety fell away as a tear hit the tissue paper covering the hospital bed.

I looked at Cait and embarrassment took over. She was in pain. Every step, inch driven, bag picked up and put down, aggravated her recovery. She asked that we stay home. Let Ronan work it out. I dragged us out for this false alarm.

She stared at Ronan with nothing but relief and love.

10:30 am, the drive home. We piled into the car. Our first new parent health scare, complete. We never forgot to burp again.