Trust Fall

I tossed and turned in bed.

When I realized that I was intermittently whimpering, I finally threw the covers off and got up.

I crept into The Rooster's room and climbed awkwardly into her toddler bed.

I had been having one of those awful dreams, the kind where something terrible, devastating, something permanently bad, happens to one of your children.

I couldn't shake it off and I was full of fear.

I needed to see her, to watch the simple rise and fall of her breath.

Though she was deeply asleep, she flipped about in the bed trying to get comfortable.

There really isn't enough room for me in a toddler bed.

Eventually, she settled into the curve of my body.

Her arm curled itself around my chin and her hand settled on my cheek.

She stuck her little foot in my hand.

I stayed there, holding her, until I was sure of her again.

This morning, when I dropped her off at school, she stood at the glass door waving at me as I walked back to our car.

As the distance grew between us, I couldn't help sighing, resigning myself to the way parenting is such an incredible leap of faith every single day.