Fuzzy

I was fast asleep, knee deep in a dream about decorating a home celebrating the birth of a baby, when out of the depths of my soul, a voice beckoned me back to reality. Mommy? I keep having nightmares. Can I sleep with you?

I settled you down on the floor beside my bed. Pulled my body up out of my bed, and laid down next to you. I rubbed your head, like I've always done ever since you were little. Your furry little head that has encompassed the brain that has surpassed every expectation. Your scalp is encircled by cowlicks, proof pudding that you were kissed by angels, miraculously healed, and brought forth in to this world. At the very based of your skull, you have a perfectly circular patch of blonde hair. When people glance at you, they think you have a randomly weird bald spot. But I know better. I know it's where God Himself, healed you, before you were born. It's where all of the sickness that kept me laying down for seven and a half months went away. It is what kept me from bleeding out on the operating table, and kept you from dying inside of me. The proof pudding of a miracle.

You are my miracle. One of the three that came in to my world and rocked every single aspect of it to its core. You broke down my ideas of control, brought me to my knees, and showed me what complete and utter helplessness looks like. You taught me to let go. You taught me that love walks through the valley of the shadow of death, and keeps on going even when they don't see any lights at the end of the tunnel. You taught me that fighting means laying one quarter of all of the love in your soul at the feet of God, and your pediatrician, and hoping and praying that your lungs will re-expand with air, that your brain will stop seizing, that your stomach will start working. You showed me the immaculate power of a tiny little human being's capability to defeat every single medical odd placed against it. You showed me how to not give up.

Last night there was something tangible that I could do to protect you. So I spent the night rubbing your fuzzy little head, and making certain that you knew I was present with all that I was. As tired as I was (and am), it was an honor. I would do it again in a heartbeat.