The Flood

He woke up from his nap and of course, moseyed over to me for some quality fresh-from-his-nap boob time. He crawled up into my lap, half-asleep, nuzzled himself into my shirt while I tiredly sat at my desk, slurped coffee, hoping the warmth of it would help soothe my throat some. (Despite my best efforts, I’ve caught the kids’ illnesses. Bleh.)

He nuzzled and sucked and looked up at me, and gently caressed my face in such a way, in a caring, I love you mom, you mean the world to me way.

And I broke.

The floodgates came, water streaming everywhere. I couldn’t stop the tears. I know he loves me. I know they all love me. But I can’t run this family ship myself all the time, nevermind doing it sick (again).

I need help.

I watched through pouring tears as I drowned his baby fingers which were now hesitant to remain on my cheek. He continued to nurse, but cautiously so, as my chest heaved, and the quiet sobs overcame us.

He climbed down, and left me to myself once more. But the tears remained.


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