My Baby Guy. My son.

Wild how having a boy has changed my perspective on some things.

As I lie there, cocooned in a little cosmos of love, my mind went to Mary. The mother of a perfect Son. I'm sure she whispered those words to Him when he trembled as a baby.

She kissed his soft cheeks. She held his hands. She ran her fingers through his hair.

And as his cheeks were spit on. 

His hands were nailed to a cross. 

His hair was the resting place of a crown of thorns.  

While the world was watching this happen to the Savior, she was watching it happen to her baby. Her son. 

I felt his breathing finally level out against my cheek, the whimpering and the shaking finally subsided. I kissed his forehead, noticing my arm sleeping almost as soundly under his weight as he was.

In that quiet, the importance of the cross and the weight of everything that comes with it felt sooo close. 

I realized that because Mary had the strength to let her Son go ... because she stood by and watched Him die so the world could live ... He is now able to reach through time and space to hold us in our own moments of fear. Our own nightmares. Our own realities. 

Her sacrifice was the beginning of our safety.

I squeezed Baby Guy a little tighter, breathing in the scent of his hair and thanking God that for today, my arms are enough. I whispered it one last time, a soft exhale against his forehead: "I’ve got you." And I rested in the knowledge that because she held Him close and then let Him go, He will never let us go. 

As I cry and stress and worry, He is holding me through it all, whispering, "You're safe. I'm here. I’ve got you." He knows exactly how those words should sound too, because He first heard them whispered in the dark by His mother.