"Honey...wake up you're just dreaming," my husband said almost irritated with my unconscious state of sweating, kicking, and screaming. My eyes were already open when he managed to bring me back to reality. The picture in front of them slowly changed from the past to the present surroundings of our bedroom. " What is your problem?" Bryce asked. Without answering him I whipped my head around in a panic to see 2:45 lit up in red and next to it a similar red dot indicating the baby monitor was on. Unconvinced that it was working, I dove out of bed trompling Chewy, Hooch, and Scrappy, who laid on the floor in a pile of blankets reserved just for them. I reached the door and struggled to unlock it in the dark. The dogs followed me out the door as I walked briskly across the cold linoleum floor in the hallway, then kitchen, and the new carpet in the living room up to Ethan's bedroom door.
             After quietly turning the green and yellow plastic door knob common in trailer houses, I stepped into his room. I took small steps and scanned the floor with my foot each time I took a step to make sure I didn't step on any toys. My hand similarly scanned for the cold metal of Ethan's crib. Once I found it I used it to guide me to his nightlight attached to the railing and I flipped the switch. I took in a deep breath and let it all back out when I noticed he was sound asleep, curled up in a ball in the corner of the crib with his bottom up in the air and his white pajama feet sticking out. He seemed so defenseless at 13 months old. I noticed his relaxed breathing as I ran my hand over his back up to his cheek where the stitches were and a chill ran up my arm. I grabbed his fuzzy pooh blanket from the opposite corner of the crib, where he had pushed it, and covered his body.
             After shutting the night light off I sat down in a chair nearby and let myself be overwhelmed by a flash flood of questions I couldn't help but ask myself. What would I ...