The truth about the Emmanuel Haro case and my own parenting anxiety

I was sitting in my 2018 Honda CR-V in the preschool pickup line, staring blindly at my phone. Maya was in the back seat kicking my chair to the rhythm of some song only she could hear, and I was drinking an iced coffee that had melted into a watery beige puddle about three hours earlier. I was just scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Everyone in my local moms' Facebook group was asking the exact same question. We were all holding our collective breath, wondering if that sweet baby, Emmanuel, was ever going to be found safe after his mother told that wild story about being knocked unconscious in a Yucaipa sporting goods parking lot.

I remember what I was wearing—these horrific, stained gray sweatpants that I hadn't washed in a week—because when the news finally dropped, I literally dropped my phone under the passenger seat, put my head on the steering wheel, and just cried.

Because they didn't find him. The remains of that poor 7-month-old were never located. And the kidnapping? It was a complete lie. By the end of 2025, the dad, Jake Haro, had pleaded guilty to murder after a history of chronic abuse. The threat wasn't some stranger in a parking lot. It was the people inside the house.

The monsters aren't in white vans anymore

I used to have this very specific, very 1990s idea of danger. You know? Like, the stranger snatching your kid at the playground. The sketchy white van circling the neighborhood. I grew up with my mom practically putting a LoJack on me if I rode my bike past the cul-de-sac. But this case... oh god, it just broke my brain. Because the dad actually had a prior history of severely abusing another child. It was on his record!

My whole worldview just sort of tilted on its axis for a few months. Like, I spent my entire early motherhood terrified of the dark, and it turns out I should have been looking at who I let in the front door. Dave, my husband, is usually the rational one. He's the guy who looks at statistics and says, "Sarah, the math says we're fine." But even Dave was quiet that night after the kids went to bed. We just sat on the couch watching Netflix on mute, not actually watching it, just thinking about how vulnerable babies actually are.

What Dr. Aris told me when I was spiraling

I brought Leo in for his 4-month checkup right around the time I was deep in this true-crime rabbit hole, and I was just an absolute wreck. I was interrogating the sweet 19-year-old girl who occasionally watches my kids like she was a hostile witness on a Law & Order episode. My pediatrician, Dr. Aris—who's basically part therapist, part saint—saw me shaking while holding Leo. I had barely slept. I think I babbled something about how the CDC or whatever says babies under one are the most vulnerable, which I'd read in some midnight anxiety scroll and had cemented itself in my prefrontal cortex.

He just sort of put his hand on my shoulder. He told me that trying to memorize risk statistics is a losing game because honestly, I think a lot of the medical data is just educated guessing anyway since people who hurt kids obviously lie about it. He said instead of suspecting everyone at the grocery store, I just needed to look for things that defy logic. Like, bruises on a baby who isn't mobile yet. Babies who can't walk or crawl shouldn't have bruises, because they can't throw themselves into coffee tables yet.

It sounds so obvious now, but when you're drowning in postpartum anxiety, you lose all common sense. He also told me to watch for caregivers whose stories change. If a sitter tells you the baby bumped his head on the crib, and then tomorrow says it was the floor... that's when you panic. Anyway, the point is, he gave me something tangible to look for instead of just living in a constant state of vague terror.

The things I used to stress about seem so stupid now

Honestly, I used to stress about purees versus baby-led weaning until I made myself physically ill, and now I literally couldn't care less.

Creating a transparent bubble at home

After the whole Emmanuel Haro nightmare, Dave and I had a really uncomfortable conversation about who we let into our kids' lives. Background checks. We used to think they were for, like, corporate hiring or adopting a rescue dog. Now? I'll absolutely run a check on a new sitter. Jake Haro's previous abuse conviction was public record! Anyone could have found it. Oh god, it makes me sick to think about how trusting we all are just because someone smiles and knows how to warm up a bottle.

When my anxiety gets really bad, I try to control my immediate environment. I start cleaning aggressively, or I purge toys. I started being way more intentional about the space we create for the kids in our house. When I'm feeling panicked about the state of the world, I want things around me that feel solid. Grounded. Not plastic junk that flashes red and blue lights at me while I'm trying to drink my coffee and breathe.

This is exactly why I got so intensely attached to the Wooden Baby Gym | Nature Play Gym Set with Botanical Elements when Leo was little. I know it sounds crazy to say a toy helped my mental health, but I was having terrible anxiety, and just watching him lie under this beautiful, simple wooden A-frame with those little fabric leaves... it really calmed me down. Like, the wood is just so warm and real. It doesn't ping or sing off-key songs that make my eye twitch. It's just natural materials that made me feel like I was doing one thing right, providing a safe, non-toxic space for him to just be.

I remember wearing those same awful gray sweatpants for three days straight, but sitting next to that play gym on the nursery floor made the room feel peaceful. It gave me this illusion of a safe, organic bubble. It's beautifully made, totally safe, and honestly one of the only baby items I absolutely refused to give away when he outgrew it. It's sitting in my attic right now because I can't part with it.

On the flip side, because I was on this massive hyper-vigilant safety and germ-avoidance kick, I also bought their Baby Pacifier Holder. It's a silicone case that loops onto your diaper bag. I mean, it works. It keeps the lint and the mysterious purse-crumbs off the pacifier, which is nice I guess, and you can throw it in the dishwasher. But I'm going to be completely honest with you: I lost it at Target within a week. If you're an organized person who has their life together, you'll probably love it. If you've ADHD and a four-year-old screaming for Goldfish in the checkout line, it's just another small thing to drop in the parking lot. I bought another one, and I lost that one in Dave's truck.

If you're also trying to surround your kids with safer, more intentional things that don't make you want to pull your hair out, you should probably just browse our play gym collection and take a deep breath.

We have to stop being polite

Women are so deeply conditioned to be polite. Dave never worries about offending a babysitter by asking for references or checking their ID. He just does it. I used to agonize over it. I'd sit there sweating, thinking, "Oh, I don't want to seem like a crazy helicopter mom..."

I catch myself trying to give advice by just giving commands—stop worrying, ask for references, run the check, install the nanny cam, trust your gut—and I hate when parenting articles do that. It's never that simple. But basically, I just mean we need to embrace being difficult women with who watches our kids. The alternative of being polite is just too terrifying to think about anymore. If a nanny won't let you run a background check, let them walk. Who cares if they think you're neurotic?

I think a lot about comfort now. Not just my emotional comfort, but physical comfort for my kids. Giving them things that make them feel anchored. Maya used to drag this Organic Cotton Baby Blanket with the Penguin Design literally everywhere. I mean everywhere. It has been dragged through mud at the park, spilled coffee (mine, obviously, I trip a lot), and so much dog hair. It's this double-layered organic cotton, and I think it gave her that secure, substantial feeling without really being a heavy therapeutic weighted blanket, which I was always too scared to use anyway.

It washed beautifully, which is an absolute miracle because I'm terrible at laundry and shrink everything I touch. It's just a good, safe, chemical-free blanket that made her feel secure when I couldn't physically be holding her. And honestly, knowing it wasn't coated in flame retardants or whatever just gave me one less thing to obsess over at 3 AM.

Look, we can't control everything. The world is scary and sometimes the news is so bad you want to throw your phone into the ocean. But we can make the space around our kids as safe and intentional as possible. If you want to see what else we've that really stands up to real life and anxious parents, check out our organic baby blankets before you go down another late-night worry spiral.

Questions I was obsessively googling at 2 AM

Did they ever really find baby Emmanuel Haro?
No, and honestly this is the part that still makes my chest tight. They never found his remains. The case is legally closed because the dad pleaded guilty to murder and the mom is in jail awaiting trial, but there's no real closure. It's just a horrifying tragedy that ended without bringing him home.

How do you seriously background check a babysitter without being weird about it?
Honestly? Just blame it on your anxiety or your husband. Dave is my designated bad cop. I just say, "Hey, we love you, but my husband insists we run a standard check on everyone, it's just our house rule!" There are online services like Care.com that run them for you, or you can literally just pay a few bucks for a public record search. If they get offended, they aren't the right sitter for you anyway.

What are the actual signs of abuse my pediatrician told me to look for?
Dr. Aris said the absolute biggest red flag is bruises on a baby who isn't cruising or walking yet. Like, if they can't move themselves across a room, they shouldn't be bumping into things. It's that simple. Also, if a caregiver's story about how an injury happened keeps changing or just doesn't make logical sense for a baby's developmental stage. Trust your gut.

How do I handle the anxiety of leaving my baby with someone new?
Oh god, I cried the first five times I left Leo, even with my own mother. Get a nanny cam. Seriously. It's not an invasion of privacy if it's in your living room and you literally tell the sitter it's there. I just say, "Oh, I've cameras so I can peek in because I miss him!" It keeps everyone honest and it stops you from having a panic attack in the Target parking lot.

Where do you even report something if you think a kid is in danger?
I saved the Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline (1-800-4-A-CHILD) in my phone contacts. You can call them or text them anonymously. Don't try to be a detective yourself, just report it and let the professionals figure it out. Being wrong and looking foolish is so much better than being right and staying quiet.