When Baby Is Sick

It hit Monday evening. Our poor little man was sick. The croupy kind of sick. The kind of sick that keeps mommy up{right} all night in a rocking chair and baby up{right} in mommy's arms trying to breathe.

It's hard to be a mommy. 

But I think it's hard to be a baby too. To have no way of understanding what's going on or explain clearly what your wants and needs are. They don't understand that "this too shall pass." 


I don't always understand that either. 

It passes all too quickly. As I sat there for hours holding our little man and listening to him breathe, I quietly soaked in all his little sweetness. His little hand wrapped around mine, little eyes closed, mouth open, gently cradled in his happy place. 


As much as I wanted sleep that night, I wanted to hang on to my little man even more. Because one day, Lord willing, he will be a man. A grown-up man. I won't be able to cuddle him up in my arms in the middle of the night. I won't sing him to sleep. I won't whisper prayers over his crib{though I will whisper them plenty everywhere else}.

Even as I write this, I fight the urge to run upstairs to his room and sit quietly in the dark beside his bed. I don't want to miss any of this. Any of him.


I do hope that, someday, I will sleep through the night again. But, when that happens, I will cry. 

A lot.

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