I’m worried. More than worried. Because my baby is sick. She has a fever and other symptoms. But nothing I recognize. Not an ear infection, not a cold or the flu, not a urinary tract infection, not pneumonia. No matter what the diagnosis turns out to be after we see the doctor, for now, I’m just worried.
She’s listless. She’s not playing, she’s not eating. I feel so helpless. I’d give anything to trade places with her. I hold her little feverish body, pressed against mine. She lets out little whimpers in time with her breathing. And tears stream down my cheeks. I can’t protect her. I can’t cure her. All I can do is worry and be there for her, holding her in my arms.
My heart fills with anxiety, and the worst-case scenarios come to mind. I try to push them out of my head by breathing in the scent of her soft little hair, but the worry keeps coming back. What if I lose her—forever? I pull myself together. I gently stroke her back.
I may worry, yes, but tonight, I’m going to cuddle her. I’ll be there, with her. The dreary hospital room will regain a little color thanks to our two hearts beating gently together. I’m going to hold her close to me to comfort her, but also to reassure myself. It’s funny to say, but my little mini-baby can reassure me, just by being there.
With all the tenderness and love I can muster, I rock her gently. I try to take away her pain. I try to bring down her fever. I feel so helpless.
My baby, I’m going to stay right by your side. I’m going to take care of you as best as I can. And you’re going to get better—I promise you that.