3:00 am, with my hemorrhoid-ridden pregnant ass planted on a cheap footstool and my arm crushed in between the monster's head and his barn-board guardrail.
I realized, out of nowhere, how incredibly happy I was. Not because the monster has a nasty chest cough and needed me there, not because he wanted his mama and wouldn't let me go. But because I was able to be there, because my being there made a difference. Because that arm-numbing, chest-contorting, ass-paining contact let my little monster drift off to sleep, feel safe and understand fully just how loved he is.