My “baby” and her friend.
I read the words on the message board and take a deep breath. My baby is in surgery. She’s only 16 years old, going on 26, but still my baby. She’ll be just fine. I repeat that thought in my mind. Already visited the chapel, said many prayers, had several cups of coffee and a bite to eat. Settling in for the several hour wait. Recalling a time similar to this, years gone by, when only an infant, the waiting and praying also took place. So tiny. So scared. Listening to Mommy’s voice and songs, through bandaged eyes and covered head, the little soul inside hung on bravely. My voice and attempts at lullabies the only form of communication she knew. The pinky finger I offered her to hold onto was the lifeline between the two of us. I remember her tiny little fingers, a few of them, holding onto my pinky. Curled around mine tightly, afraid, but safe with Mommy nearby. She survived that day’s experience and grew beautifully in life. Now, another stepping stone to be crossed over before moving forward again. Just as scared. Just as brave. She’s in good hands again today and everyday in God’s good hands. So blessed to have her in my life and proud to be her Mommy humming the lullabies in my head.