I’ve always heard people say they would die for their child. My mom has told me repeatedly that until I had children, I would never understand her love for me. Now I do.
My little family was on the way home from dinner earlier this evening, and at the last major intersection before our house, a truck barreled through the red light, and in a hail of smoke and screeching tires, narrowly avoided hitting our car. It took a few minutes to sink in, but when it did, I was overcome with tears and the realization that I would never forgive myself if something happened to Canaan while I was driving, my fault or not.
A few miles down the road, I mentioned to Justin that I would like to go back and find that driver and give him a piece of my mind. (I think my actual phrasing was, “I’d like to find that driver and kick his ass.”
Because seeing my sweet baby’s sleeping face in the rearview mirror tonight made me realize how much our lives have changed in the past six months. Of course, I always look out for my baby first. His needs are always more important than mine, even if my bladder is full to bursting and he has an entire bottle left to finish. When he spits up everywhere, I wipe HIS face first, and then my shoulder.
I make certain that his clothes are clean, his britches are dry, he’s eating the right foods at the right time, and that he’s properly and educationally entertained. He is my number one, he is my everything. Justin and I have proudly added a new little member to Team Orf, and now we have two coaches and one player. As God is my witness, our son will never go without, no matter what we have to sacrifice.
That battered old truck on Highway 20 opened my eyes tonight and taught me something: I would die for my husband. But I would kill for my child.
And I hope Canaan knows that his mom and dad are always ready and willing to go to battle for him.