My world

Picture this.

A sleeping 12 day old packaged neatly lies near the top of the bed, in the next bedroom sprawled is a four year old, near the foot of this bed on the floor, is an exhausted 32 year old, standing at the door a 36 year old. These in the order mentioned above--son, no. 2, son no. 1, darling brother and dearest husband respectively.

My people. My world.

The ones missing that complete my world is mum, asleep downstairs, and dad who's watching 24, also downstairs.

I drink in the scene. I sigh with happiness. I love each of these people so much, so very much, it hurts. I worry about them, wonder constantly about their well-being, about how I can help better it; they depend on me as I do on them, also so very achingly much, in varying degrees. Some days more than others but depend we all do. My father depends on me to understand his difficult emotional nature. He thinks we're kindred spirits when it comes to emotional matters each of us being horribly quirky. My mother depends on me for the camaraderie we share even if its mostly over the phone. Brother as his sounding board, husband as well...everything.

But it's not something I think about or analyze much. Like living or chores, its just something one does.

My newborn baby suddenly lets out a gasp, as if searching for air. I pick him up and hold him to my chest. He turns beet red, gasps some more then lets out a sound of relief and begins breathing normally again. The fragility of this little life dependent so much on us and our ability or lack thereof to keep our wits about us overwhelms me for a moment. I quickly hand him over to my husband.

I then go to my four year old lie down beside him, pull him close and hold him tight. The enormity of what we have done over the last four, almost five years with this boy hits me. He is well, he is happy, he is well adjusted. So far, so good. We've not done badly. I think for the first time that maybe I can actually do this. Heck, I've actually done this. Be a pretty reasonably good mum that is.

To be able to hold this human being close without fear of breaking him seems like a lofty accomplishment all of a sudden. One I must somehow sustain for years to come. I close my eyes and kiss his warm neck.

And there I stay until my still fragile son lets out a wail. Demanding to be strengthened, demanding to be fed, hoping perchance that I can keep my wits about me for him too.