There’s something that hits different

 There’s something that hits different when it’s your kid.

You can handle the sleepless nights.
You can handle the mess, the chaos, the hard days.
But watching your child feel miserable, feverish, uncomfortable, and not themselves… that part hurts.

I hate that I can’t take it away.
That I can’t explain why their body feels so heavy or why everything aches.
I hate the helpless feeling of doing all the right things and still wishing it was enough to make it stop instantly.

So I sit closer.
I rub their back.
I count breaths.
I whisper that I’m right here, even when they already know.

Because if I can’t fix it, I can at least be the safest place while they go through it.