The sky was getting lighter as I hovered in that not quite awake yet space. I cracked my eyes to peek at the clock on my bedside table.
5:15 am.
I was a little surprised that I slept through the night without hearing a peep from Harry all night. I hit the monitor to turn the camera on and glanced at the screen.
Panic rolled in furiously. He was laying in his crib on his back with the light blanket over his head. I flew out of bed and down the stairs, tore open the door and ran to the crib, my husband on my heels.
He was laying there on his tummy, blanket kicked off during the night at the other end of the crib. He groggily sat up. “Mama!"
I have no idea if I was still dreaming when I glanced at that monitor or if my just woken brain confused the infrared video screen. Harry’s slept with a light blanket on him for months without issue - he’s almost 18 months old and wears size 3T, but holy shit those 2 seconds were terrifying. It was enough time for me to have a flash go through my mind of having to lift my unconscious son out of his crib.
Being the mom of a whirling dervish of a boy like Harry will prematurely age me on a regular basis so my mind doesn’t need to help fuel my maternal fear.
All the same, maybe no blanket tonight.
