A Mother's Fear

Each night and sometimes many times nightly, I find myself slipping out of bed quietly.  I walk noiselessly to Will's crib, peer over the edge at my sleeping boy and anxiously look for the slow rise and fall of his chest.  Often, his breath is so gentle I am unable to detect any movement underneath his tightly swaddled blanket.  My heart quickens and I find my fingers reaching out to feel him.  I need to know he's okay.  I cannot rest until I can quieten the fears in my head.  I think of them as irrational fears, but are they?  It's so hard to make myself stop worrying about Will.  All I have done since last September is worry about Will; it's hard to stop now.  My fingers gently touch his blanket and search for the reassuring movement of his quiet breathing.  It's there.  I can rest easily now.  Until the next time I find my brain overpowering my deep need for sleep.  My heart needs the reassurance that my boy is okay.  He has to be okay.  His mom needs him.

Sleep, sleep my precious baby, Will.  Your momma loves you.