I'm Afraid.
The cabernet calls me from the kitchen, but I'm trying to focus on tonight's singular agenda: work until I fall asleep. You, me and Lenovo share the sheets more nights than I'd care to admit.
That's right, you've been three-years-old for three days, and you still sleep with your mama. And yes, I stopped working to tell you about it.
It all started because you were an incredibly pukey infant. Even in a dead of sleep, you could vomit. My decision to co-sleep DOES NOT follow safe sleeping standards, but I was completely convinced that I was protecting you from choking to death. Being a mom is super scary and comes with random bouts of irrational paranoia. Don't believe me? I've googled how to rescue you from a crocodile attack, and we don't live in a tropical state.
We continue to co-sleep because you sleep better. If you cry out, I'm there to turn on the soothing lullaby. If it's too hot, I'm there to turn down the thermostat. If you need to regulate by jumping on the bed, I'm there to keep you safe. It makes zero sense to say this but I sleep better, even when I'm barely sleeping, because I know you're getting the rest you need.
If that wasn't enough, you've tried to fly the coop, little bird. I've been fortunate to wake up when I feel you move out of bed. The problem is mice could make more of a racket than you.
Are you sensing a theme here? I'm afraid.
In 2024, 58 of your autistic peers drowned. Twice, I've sat at the kitchen table with Mimi and cried. During one of those times, Mimi was recalling her encounter with the first person she ever saw stare at you and be unkind. The second was when the body of Lionel Cervantes' was found. He'd escaped from school and made his way to a neighboring pond. In that moment I realized - my best efforts to ensure your safety are never guaranteed.
Typical parent fear is natural. Caregiver fear is ingrained.
Rest assured, my baby, if my last breath ensures your safety, I'd freely sacrifice it. But sadly, that's another very real fear for your mama. What happens to you when I'm gone?
Forever Planning and Praying,
Mama