I do my best to soothe her, encouraging her to sit up now and pressing the paper bag I’ve just grabbed from the kitchen over her nose and mouth and slowly rub circles on her back. It’s not a perfect solution by any means, but right now, it’s the best I can do to triage a crappy situation. “You gotta breathe nice and slow for me. You’re ok.” I see the bag inflate just a fraction, then hollow out. “Slow. Deep breath. Again.” We sit like that for a long moment. Me talking this stranger through a panic attack while planning multiple ways to murder my own son.
