those tiny metallic moments in between awake and sleeping.
last night, curled up on finn's rug next to her bed in the middle of the night, i felt myself swaying on the silk strings of almost asleep and i would hear her cry out 'mommy!' and my body would jolt awake with a bit of misunderstanding. the unintentional martrydom of sleeping on a floor in my daughter's room vibrating in my belly.
'i'm right here, baby. shhhh.'
every night before i head to bed, i sneak into her dimly lit room and watch her breathe. i arrange the blankets, move hair off her face, inhale. i can't go to sleep unless i do it.
last night, i open the door and her eyes glance over to me. 'mommy,' she whispers. it's the tone of her voice. her body is on fire, feverish, glazed. she whimpers a bit when she sees me because that's what we do when we see our parents, our protectors, yes? we break down and we let ourselves feel the full weight of how bad we really feel. we let it swallow us whole.
she didn't want to sleep in our bed. she didn't want to stay on the couch. (not at rest, anyway.) so i put her back in bed and i curled up on the floor. so that when she cried out, i was there. she finally fell asleep at four am. and i wondered about parents in the wings of hospitals and why they are called wings when they are clipped by sick children and the inability to make it better. i go to extremes, it seems. a fever to hospital wing and that part of me will never be dormant. i will never be the type of girl who doesn't look four steps forward, trying to prevent the worst possible scenario.
perhaps my greatest fear is failing in the face of prevention. of letting the worst case scenario play out before me, without a fight. perhaps i am just unable to admit that i can't control everything. that someday i will have to teach my daughter that sexting is more permanent that a regrettable tattoo and i obsess over the moments when i am too exhausted to read her another story and i think what if this is the impetus for her not feeling good enough, listened to, less than? yes, my head is a loud and soft mat spotted with blood and sweat, wrapped in extremes tossed against the ropes over and over again.