The Aftermath

A dream is shattered by a piercing shriek, amplified by the monitor sitting on my dresser. Inwardly I groan, fighting the fatigue that has been surrounding me like a cloud for the past week. I hurry to the room across the hall, the room where my little precious sleeps. She sits in her crib holding her pacifier in one hand and her beloved "Moo" in the other. It is too early to be up. When she sees me, one "Momma!" escapes her lips, and not even able to sit up any longer, she sighs and sinks back down on her blankets.

Momma is here. Momma will always hear you.

I gather her up and give her a firm hug and a barrage of kisses. I tuck her in all snuggly wuggly. I kiss her cow and tuck him? her? in too. I stand over her crib and pray for my child. She hasn't been herself since the MRI. She is clingy, wary, scared to be awake and alone in the safe haven of her crib. She is moody with Daddy, enjoying his games, but then suddenly getting frustrated.

We worry about her, yes, but we are almost certain that this too will pass. She needs to regain her sense of security. We have seen more glimpses of our real Selena lately then before. So for now, we watch and pray. And give her little surprises, like a blinking little tree for her own room, and one at Nanna's with ornaments that she can touch! And I sing. I sing to her over and over. The song below has become a favorite -- but I substitute "When I am Afraid." for the last verse.

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