Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Two or three times a night, every night, I wake up, remembering that our precious little creature is sleeping next door. I'm instantly filled with an incredible sense of love, an incredible sense of pride, an incredible sense of peace. And then I worry. Worry that it could all be taken away if anything were to happen to that little boy. That my heart would be broken. That I would be broken, forever. No rational thought can reassure me. The only comfort is him. Seeing him in his cot. Seeing the rise and fall of his chest. Laying my hand on his tummy to make sure it's moving. That he is ok. That we are all ok for another day.
Two or three times a night. Every night.