Watching her sleep

I sit on the edge of her hospital bed and watch her sleep.  It takes me back five years and a month to this same hospital when I was the one in the bed holding her in my arms, watching my newborn baby sleep.  The feelings of vulnerability and fear and profound love are the same.  It's a strange thing to be a parent, to have so much responsibility and yet feel so very helpless.  Suddenly people are asking you questions and you're expected to have all the answers--what is her social security number, when did the pain start, and every minute detail of her potty and eating habits.  I couldn't tell you today's date, and yet I'm entrusted with this precious being who looks to me to care for her and have all the solutions.

Becoming a parent is the quickest way to feel like an adult...and a helpless child.

Sometimes I think I will burst from all the love and heartbreak of it all.  She takes my hand and I pray that she'll see strength instead of uncertainty.  I hope that she'll trust the decisions we make are the best for her, even when they hurt.  I wonder if we'll have the faith to hold it all together even when the road is rough.

But for now, I watch her sleep and remember the grace of her finding comfort in my arms from the beginning, understanding that she sensed something in me that I am not always able to trust in myself.  She recognized me as her mama before I could fully embrace that.  And so I must lean on her faith and trust in God who holds us both as we sleep.