Sunday, July 15, 2012
i hovered over her ... like a new mama watches frettingly over her newborn baby.
except my baby laid swaddled amongst mountains of pink and green quilts in the top bunk of the bunk bed. little baby left. long lanky legs. a mess of sweatydrenched hair upon her pillow.
her breathing was shallow. so shallow. and within her chest i could feel the fluttering of her heart.
much too fast for a normal night of sleep.
while i struggled knowing that i agreed to the vaccine that coursed through her body making her feel this way. (please let us not get into the vaccine argument ... i struggle enough within my own heart as it is.)
she began fitfully tossing around freeing her arms and legs from the tightly bundled blankets.
she awoke and i pulled her down into my arms. took temperatures. laid lukewarm cloths upon her forehead. offered medicine ... hoping that it would allow us a few hours of sleep.
she slept tossing and turning.
until the sun started to peek through the curtains
and her temperature settled.
and her breathing relaxed into the softness of her spot beside me in my bed.
and her heartbeat s.l.o.w.e.d. enough that i didn't fear it any longer.
is amazing and beautiful. i remember watching it on a screen while she hovered inside of me. it was always their little heart flutters that sent me into tears. because it proved to me that they were.
we've learned that the heart i watched so strongly beating at one time ... has a funny little murmur. a whistle of sorts. and though this illness and this heart stuff have no common ground ... i'm realizing how much worry that this has put in me. and we're still learning more about it.
what we do know for certain? is that her heart loves. big. and i guess that's the most important thing.