Moments like this one, where my kid is in her bed, screaming "Mommy!" while coughing and choking on heavy sobs, make me wonder: what was I thinking?
I've already put her back to bed twice. I can see her on the monitor. I've decided that my methods aren't working (this is a trend for the past four nights). I can see her getting out of bed so I call to her from my spot on the couch, "Lay down Rosanna". A fresh gusto of dismay and tragedy pours out of her. She lays down and pulls the covers up. Her small body is jerking with spastic breathes and she is still crying.
I am fighting reasoning against intense momma-bear coddling that is urging me to go in there and hold her until her breathing is normal again.
In this moment I ask myself: what was I thinking? In a few years this upset will be small beans compared to what the world will bring to my most treasured soul. It will tear me up and require of me to make more choices that won't make my baby happy, might even make her mad at me. And it will be the best choice for her. It'll likely give me heat palpitations (like tonight is) and I'll cry myself.
I signed up for this.
Right now she's quiet. Every so often I hear a hard sniffle, one of those gasps that last for awhile after a hard cry. She's still in bed. I didn't even get up. I feel like this should be a proud moment for me.