Cuddles and Crying

This morning, I went upstairs to wake up Asher and ended up a sobbing mess, cuddled up next to him as he slept the morning away.  Maybe it was the atmosphere--the room was slightly chilly and I was under the covers beside of him, feeling his heartbeat with my hand, everything quiet except for his breathing.

The thoughts wouldn't stop.
He's getting so big. Growing up. What if something happens to his body and can't be stopped? Will this still be happening when he's 13? 20? 40? How will he react? Will he include me? Will the seizures or the medication affect his ability to have children? If he chooses to have children and can, will they be ok if he has a seizure?  Will he live close to me? 

When I was worrying about the grandchildren I didn't even have yet, I realized what I was doing and I needed to stop.  But I felt this maternal devastation that I sometimes feel.  She doesn't come around too often, but when she does, I let her have her way with me.

Each heartbeat brought a what if? what if? what if? until I was weeping holding onto him. And I let myself do it.  And that is ok. Sometimes we need to feel the fear...face it head on. Sometimes the aftermath of that can even be healing.

I dried my eyes and got my little man up. We prepared for a day of fun and celebrating Fall as a family. He ran into friends at Chipotle and talked so much he forgot to eat.  We collected toys and trinkets and treasures at a food free Trunk or Treat.  We went on a scavenger hunt at Target and we have plans for two more fun things this evening.

Praying the entire time that we don't run into any strobe lights or Reese cups. But going anyway and trying to be abnormally normal.

And I'll wake up tomorrow and rush him into the shower and beg him to hurry as he ties his shoes and there won't be time for cuddles and crying.  The rush of the day will save me.  And that's ok, too.

I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the Lord sustained me. 

Psalm 3:5