stillness. scared.

I'm sitting in Solo's room, it's dark & quiet. The laptop is on his dresser and his baby brother is in my arms, asleep, nursing, breathing baby sighs. My sweet Solo-boy is fast asleep beside me, resting under a soft blankie. Silent - not snoring, not struggling to breathe, just peaceful.

On Wednesday afternoon a doctor took out his tonsils and adenoids & conducted allergy testing at a hospital five blocks from our house. When he woke up from surgery and I finally saw him, I felt nauseous, dizzy and helpless. I cried. I couldn't help myself. He came home with daddy late that night at 10 pm to sleep in his own bed, legs covered with tiny dots, groggy, puffy-faced, and scared.

It's moments like these when I feel like a teenager again, lost and confused, small and fragile. I certainly am not really an adult, am I? And certainly not a mother and responsible for the health and well-being of two small, dependent and impressionable boys?

Ah, but I am.

And so often I feel so inadequate, so lost, not qualified for the daunting task before me. I'm tired, I'm scared, too. I'm confused and uncertain. But, in all of this, these boys look up to me for the answers, for the signs that it's all going to be okay. And even when I don't believe it yet myself, I assure them of their safety in my arms.

I hope they keep sleeping. I'm not quite ready for this magical moment of peace & stillness to end.