Lessons from a Storm

For any of you that live in the Austin area, the storms that rattled through town last night probably woke you up. At 12:15am, I awoke to "beep, beep, beep...". The digital baby monitors we have went 'offline' after the storm caused our power to go off momentarily, leaving them to beep and not work (as a side note: If you are in the market for a baby monitor, I don't recommend the Graco digital monitors. Nothing but beeps, crackles and irritation). Shortly after the monitors woke us up, my husband and I were snapped to attention by the loud cracks of thunder and firey lightening that illuminated the sky. The storm was upon us.

I honestly can say that was one of the worst storms I have witnessed. After the initial lightening and thunder, you could feel the house start to shake and sputter as the high winds whipped around us. Our house is situated high on a hill and backs to a wilderness preserve, so the winds were extreme and the trees were dancing like wild banshees in the backyard. We have bay windows all along the back side of the house, in the living room, our bedroom and our kitchen, that rattled as if they might break under the pressure. We tried to turn on the television to see what kinds of weather warnings were facing us, but the power was still out. With no radio, TV or Internet to inform us, Billy ran to the garage to locate our American Red Cross radio that is meant to keep people updated on emergency conditons in such situations.

My heart was racing as huge chunks of hail were pelting the windows. All I could think about was my baby. I ran to his room, sure that he would be frightened and awake from the madness around us, but to my surprise he was sound asleep. As the wind continued to howl, I had a deep urge to pick him up and cradle him in my arms, but my mind was telling me the best thing to do was to let him sleep. The compulsion to protect him came from deep within my belly and rose up into my throat until I could almost taste it. My mind could not stop thinking about mothers before me who had faced similar situations and, unfortunately, faced disaster: The tornado that devastated Jarrel years ago, the cyclone that killed so many in Myanmar recently, the crushing earthquake in China last week. If I felt this fear during a passing thunderstorm, how did they feel during a life altering situation in which there was nothing they could do to protect their babies? The thought of it made my throat begin to close and I continually checked on Will, watching his tiny chest rise up and down, his downy hair gently resting on the sheet. My precious son was calm in the eye of the storm. His mother was not. Is there a lesson to learn here?

Eventually the storm passed, and I began to calm down. My mind was still consumed with visions of natural disasters rendering mothers unable to save their children. I know my husband sensed my fear, my quietness. But I could not bring myself to verbalize what I was thinking. It made it too real. And as I watched the two of us, parents for the first time, jumping with nervous energy around the house as the storm passed over, I knew that he, too, felt some sense of a need to protect that didn't exist before we had Will. Before, I probably would have watched the storm with curiousity and possibly some concern. But this time I felt nervous, anxious, ready to act at a moment's notice. And I think Billy felt it, too, in his own way (he expresed it through finding a flashlight, getting the American Red Cross radio, putting on boots and a raincoat, just in case, all to be prepared). I expressed it through watching my baby, ready to scoop him up in an instant if I needed to. This is how life changes when you have a child. It's not so much about the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the temper tantrums. It's about a deep, instinctual, heart-crushing urge to protect your child at any expense. It's also about knowing a fear you never knew before, worrying about the times you can't protect them. And this morning, after the bad weather has passed but the thought of it hasn't, I bow my head in prayer for those mothers that couldn't protect their children during a strorm, whether it was a natural disaster or some other situation. I know I have many more storms to face as a mother and protecting my son may not always be possible. I hope, at least, I can provide some shelter, some comfort. For today, he is safe. And I am thankful.