Last night, Granger woke up at 3. He has been having a little trouble sleeping through the night so I didn't go in right away. After about 10 minutes I went to go check on him. He had thrown up all over himself and his bed. I got him cleaned up, Nash woke up too, and Cameron came to finish making the bed and help because Nash only wanted me, and Gray needed his daddy.
Twenty minutes later, Granger started crying again. He had thrown up a little, so I took him out and got him some oils to calm his tummy and help him sleep deep. Before I put them on, though, I just cuddled him. I was sitting on the edge of my bed when I felt his little tummy contract again and I stood up in time to keep it from getting on the bed, but it went all down my back. His poor little body did this 3 or 4 more times, and his little cry after each one just made me pull him closer to offer any comfort I could possibly give.
And I just didn't care about anything else. The early wake-up call, the mess, the lost sleep, the inconvenience. I cared about my hurting boy and how to keep him from hurting anymore.
Sometimes I am grateful for how my heart reacts to certain things. Because in moments like these, all my insecurities about being a good enough mother are pushed aside and replaced with the purest form of love I have ever known.