This morning broke me a little. Two days ago I got the call that I could see a doctor—a few hours away—and I knew I’d have to talk to him about it. I knew it would stir up his anxiety. And that’s what hurts the most… that such a tiny little body has already carried more fear, worry, and heartbreak than he should ever have to. Last night, I told him I had an appointment in the morning and that I’d only be gone for the day. He looked up at me with those big, beautiful eyes and whispered, “But I don’t want you to leave again, Mommy.” And then this morning he asked if they were going to “poke me,” because he’s scared for me now. He doesn’t want me to hurt. I keep reminding him that Mommy is trying to heal—that this is a good thing—but the truth is, the tears came for both of us before I walked out the door. I can’t stop thinking about what it must have felt like for him… watching his mama suddenly unable to talk right, unable to use her hands… watching me get wheeled into an ER… and then not seeing me for two weeks. That’s trauma. Real, heavy trauma that leaves a mark. And I can feel how much more he worries now, how protective he’s become in the sweetest little way. The other night I was struggling and laid down, and he laid his tiny head on me and said, “Mommy, does your head hurt? Do you need me to cuddle you?” 🥺❤️‍🩹 His heart is so pure. So gentle. And I know the Lord placed him in my life, at this age, in this season, for a reason. I needed him more than I ever knew. So today I’m on my way to the doctor… but my mind keeps going back to him—probably getting into the school day, telling his teacher and friends all about Mommy because if you know that boy, you know he will. And my heart aches and swells all at once. I cant wait to get back to him and his cuddles tonight.