Kira, the computer whiz
Color Guard Command

The Next One

First of all I have to confess that, having claimed to be a Grammar God (and I did SO spell it right, John), I’m wracked with insecurity about actually writing anything here. I mean, here I am, on a pedestal now…all of you looking up to me…wishing to be as grammatically sound…
What?
You’re not?
No one cares about my grammar prowess?
Huh. Weird. I guess the pressure’s off, then.
Anyhow.
Darn it, I started this an hour ago. I keep getting up and going upstairs to check on Tre. He’s sick – not all that sick, but not feeling great. For the past three days or so he wakes up in the morning feeling alright, and then steadily declines until by bedtime he’s miserable. A cold-like thing. No fever, nothing dramatic, but he’s just…punky. Not himself.
I can’t help it when my kids are sick. I revert to nervous mother. I remember this episode of the Rosanne show, where a tidy mother was fussing at Rosanne about something their sons had gotten into. Rosanne looked at this woman and said, “I bet you still go in his room at night to check if he’s breathing, don’t cha?” The woman raised her chin a bit and said, “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.” To which Rosanne snorted, “Amateur.”
Well, that’s me. I confess, after all these years I’m still an amateur. I usually have a certain confidence about me as a mother. I know my boys, of that I’m sure. But when they’re sick, I falter. There’s just too much there out of my control. Tonight I keep tiptoeing into Tre’s room, listening to him breathe. He seems to have developed a cough, so now I’m on alert for sounds of wheezing. As though I could do anything about it tonight.
I remember doing this the first time each boy slept in his own room as a baby, when the day finally came that they left the bassinet and graduated to their own crib. (I’m a total liar, by the way. They never slept in that stupid bassinet. I brought them in bed with me. The only thing that changed along the way is I felt less guilty about it with each subsequent child.) Anyhow, that first night my baby was in his own room I would slip out of bed and creep to the next room. I’d sit on the floor and silently watch his chest rise and fall. My husband came to look for me that first night I sneaked over to Tre’s side when he was a baby. He stood in the doorway, watching me for a moment, then whispered, “What are you looking at?”
Keeping my eyes on my son I whispered back, “I’m watching for a certain breath. The most important one.” He sat next to me, took me by the hand, and watched with me for a while.
Now here’s Tre, nearly nine years old. He’s a boy, solid and energetic. Probably out of the woods as far as SIDS. Yet as primal as ever I find myself sitting on the floor, watching him breathe. Because you know what the most important breath is, right?
The next one. Always the next one.

Comments

Cate

Kira, I was a grammar God, too...and we all know how THAT works out most of the time.

Shelley

God-like grammar or no, you do have a way with words. Good ending!

Tiff

I can totally relate to that feeling. I hope he is feeling better so you can relax some.

Heather

LOL! I suck at grammer. I am a writer, NOT an editor. Thanks goodness for editors.

Amy

Kira....the "s" word again. I think you might be a grammar demi-god. Okay, got that out of my system. So, I read a little essay at the back of my latest BH&G the other day and any ONE of your blogs made a better read. I hope you're submitting like crazy.

Kira

Amy, I don't know what you're talking about. If you'll look over my last post again you will clearly see that I "sneaked." As though *I* would claim to have "snuck!"
Ahem.
Thank God for the edit post function.

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