When we were in the emergency room last Monday night, a kind hospital worker offered us a freshly laundered, still warm blanket to ward off the chill of the waiting room. We’d already been there about 3 hours and luckily The Boy’s normal energy was keeping him warm. But as time wore on he began to settle down and the chill began to settle around him. He was cold. His Momma was cold.

We wrapped up together in that blanket and took turns hiding our faces and playing peek-a-boo with our fingers. When the exhaustion of the evening started to take it’s toll on his 3 year old little body, I cocooned him in that blanket and sang to him and rocked him to sleep.

His warm, wrapped body kept my own from becoming too cold for the next few hours as we waited…and waited…and waited.

After we were finished and nearly ready to go home, I noticed that in his sleep he’d had an “accident” in his superman underwear, I never even noticed the warmth as I held him and rocked him. Of course the hospital let us keep the blanket and after washing it nice and clean it was my turn with the blanket.

This time – I was the one in need, as fevers began to wrack my own body. The chills once again set in, only on me this time. I was wrapped up tight like a cocoon and The Boy and his sister played around me singing songs and cutting paper dolls.

And tonight I sit here and wear the blanket tied around me like a sarong. I am wrapped up tight like a cocoon. Even though he’s not here, I can sense The Boy around me. I miss him and his sister when they are gone for the week. But I’m here waiting.