My sweet Boy,
I woke up early Monday morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. The wind was crazy, angrily sprinting with no specific direction, leaving me unsettled and agitated like I might have to spring into action at any time, without even knowing what that would be.
You slept soundly between your dad and me, completely safe. I even thought these very words: my baby is safe, we are safe. I could hear the even exchange of inhale to exhale, but I still had to touch your torso to feel it expand and retract. We were in our bubble. From the safety of this bubble, I was able to, untouched, watch the world swirling around us but I couldn’t ignore it. Maybe it was delirium or maybe it was clarity, but I contemplated nature’s metaphor in this moment and acknowledged how unfair my privilege is and that you don’t share it.
I reshaped my pillow and moved my head to a fresh space, deepened my breath, followed it, counted it, and still I couldn’t quiet. It wasn’t until I stopped trying to fight the angry twister around us and instead settled into the calm in the center that I could make it all out. The cacophony of the trees getting thrashed, the umbrella on the roof deck dancing, the notes the building gave to the air as it sliced by. In the moment of deciphering what was happening, I was able to find some peace. I fell back asleep acutely aware that your bubble days are numbered. You deserve more than what this world is offering you right now, but I felt more optimistic than ever before.
I promise you more and I’m sorry I haven't already been beating this path. Even more, I’m sorry to every other mother who needed me to beat down this path.
With a love you cannot imagine,
Your mom
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