I had one of these moments the other day. The Quiet Contemplator woke up in the middle of the night with a really high fever. Now, I am no fever alarmist. I have a kid in daycare. Fevers happen at our house about six times a week. I take all kiddie illnesses in stride. But this one was different. I don't know why, but it caused the mommy hairs on the back of my neck to stand up and yell, "Danger, Will Robinson!" It scared the shit out of me. I actually prayed to God to keep my baby alive.
By the time the sun rose, her fever was gone and she was all unicorns and jelly beans again. But I was not. I felt like I had been through the ringer. Even though she was fine in the long run, I had seen my baby's life flash before my eyes and had lost a few years off mine in the process. I was changed. Yet again. A new layer had formed on my skin, added by my intense love for my child. A layer that made me strong by making me weak. A layer that might add a few wrinkles to my outside, but will also add a new level to my inside.
Oh, sweet girl of mine. What you do to your mommy just by simply being alive.
|You too, Bubba.|