Mommy's demons

Toby was up in the middle of the night last night. We’re not really sure why - -teething? his stuffy nose? the new night light? After the second episode of crying I decided to go in and within a few seconds he was settled down in my arms.

No one enjoys the middle of the night heart racing jolt that your child’s crying awakens you with, but after what we’ve been through, being able to soothe him so easily is not taken for granted. The feel of him snuggling in my arms and almost instantly calming down to my raspy singing voice is one of the greatest gifts of motherhood.

It all takes me back to those 24 hours in the Orillia hospital where my natural momminess just didn’t do the trick. Where I paced, and rocked and kissed and shushed and yet still there was no relief to his frantic breathlessness. Where I cried and prayed that he would either turn the corner or that they – someone -- ANYONE- would intubate him to ease his suffering. It’s an odd thing to pray for in hindsight…

The memory of that is like a demon that haunts me. It lingers in the background of our happy life, ready to pounce at opportune moments; long monotonous car rides, running outside on a beautiful day, reflective moments on my own. Tonight the demon resided in my pillow, waiting for me as I lay my tired, victorious head down after successfully comforting him back to sleep; “remember the time when you couldn’t….”