I sink down to the floor outside his bedroom and tears stream down my face. His door is closed but every scream from his little lungs rips through my being, echoing in my ears, permeating my soul. His cries turn into coughs as he tries to catch his breath. Silence. Is he breathing? Another scream assures me that he is still alive. I wipe my eyes and look down at my tear and spit up stained clothing. Surely the proponents of the Cry It Out method would take it all back if they heard this baby's cries.
A long day turns into an even longer night. I stare at the silent baby monitor that sits on my nightstand. I can't hear him crying, but the green lights turn red, telling me that my son has yet to fall asleep. I run over my mental checklist: he was fed, he was changed, he was burped. He is just tired.
Motherhood is not for the faint-hearted, my mother told me once. I ache for my husband, a lieutenant for our city's fire department. Is he sleeping right now? Is he having an easier night than me? Or is he waking up to a different scream of the siren outside his bunkroom? Telling him there is another elderly women to save, a child to breathe life into, or a fire to put out.
Motherhood is not for the faint-hearted, I tell myself, a little uncertain. I think of the other moms I know. The wives who are counting down the hours until their husbands walk through the front door after a long 48-hour shift. We are single moms, I think to myself. Single moms for 24 hours, 48 hours, sometimes 72 hours. Every week it happens all over again. Our husbands leave to save the world, as our world is crumbling before our eyes. I will stand in the living room and my tears will mix in with my child's tears on my shirt as I watch my partner, my husband, climb into his truck and drive away. He doesn't want to leave. But this job he has isn't just a job. It's a calling. It's what he was meant to do. He was created for this, destined for this.
I lie in bed and stare at the red and green lights. Eventually, slowly, one green light remains. He's asleep, it says to me. I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. My job as a mama isn't just a job. It's a calling. I was physically made for this. My heart was designed for this. I remember the first day we brought Titus home. I looked at Dustin and said, "I can't do this. I'm not a good mother."
"Every mom feels this way," said Dustin, always the encourager. "You are a great mom."
You can do this, I say to myself now. I may be a single mom for these 48 hours, but I am a really good mom. I love my baby. I love my husband. That's what matters.
And you, wife of a firefighter, EMT, paramedic, police officer, soldier, you are a really good mom. You are the single mom who isn't actually single. But you are strong and you are able. Pick up the pieces of your world and put them back together. This is who you are. You married a person who is not faint-hearted. And you will make it, because you are not faint-hearted.
All is quiet in my house. I pray for rest for me, my baby and my husband. Please, give all of us sleep. I close my eyes and night turns into day. Sweet baby sounds flood my bedroom and I go to him. He looks up, happy. He has his daddy's eyes. I turn and see my husband standing in the doorway. He smiles at me and picks up his son and kisses him.
"How was your weekend?"
I smile back at him, thankful for who he is.
"It was good. I missed you."
Chelsea Mosher blogs about marriage, family and life over at This Sacred House. You can see her life in square photos on Instagram.