The room is dark , the feet are soft and muffled, pacing back and forth; black orbs made up of tired blue eyes stare out of an impish face, wrinkled with weariness. Its past bedtime and the day has been long but still the pacing continues, not for sickness or crabbiness, but for the shear implacable love of holding the usually active little being close; for feeling the tiny breaths grow slower in sleep against the shoulder where a small head of fine new hair falls heavier and heavier.

The love of a child is a possessive thing.

As a parent I've felt many things and already had several different kinds of scared. There is the scared of piercing clarity when a little head is hot and the body weak and limp with sickness, the fear is knowledge and action. There is the scared of a warm dread that seeps up from the knees, slowly growing hotter in temperature and importance as it passes through the chest, until it boils over like lava spewing from the head and usually about something that shouldn't have been a worry in the first place. The worst kind of scared I have found is the sharp shock, like a pinprick- quick and not deep, of finding there is information that should have been studied or action that should have taken place but laziness won instead. Even the fear that comes with the realization is lazy and oozes like mud across the brain when it should be overwhelming because of incompetence. How annoying.

Today, though, I had the middle one.

Conventional medicine teaches statistics and groups and tries to put people into boxes. Intentionally good, many a time it is done to save lives, but what began as a good intention has become a lazy way to play a political game and the parent that wants to raise a child the way God knit them to be has to dance on their toes. Today I was dancing and at first I was doing well and not letting the statistics get to me but instead took in facts- my baby is healthy, happy, growing (albeit not much weight wise, but much in length), has only been sick once, and generally seems to be of average (or above?^_^) brain development. It didn't take long though for those numbers to jump in front of me again and grow bigger and bigger until I was just a speck in their shadow squeaking my right as a parent to judge whether I or conventionalism was right.

I suppose the ultimate litmus test will be time, but for today, after much seeking of trusted friends of babies who became toddlers and preschoolers successfully I eventually won out and took over fear again. No we are not doing immunizations, no my daughter is not in a "good" ratio of the "average" percentage, no I am not doing conventional baby food (for the most part). But you know what, I think God is with me and the Holy Spirit speaks to and through mothers as they raise their children... if they are faithful to ask for help and sometimes even when they forget. Wow, this side of fear is beautiful.

As the man who was scared of having a daughter held her close, pacing the dark room, I thought of our love for her and how crazy it is to find ourselves here in this life; if 3 years ago I could have imagined what life would be like I would not have seen this, I could not have thought myself so blessed and so happy. It was a feeling more than a thought when I kissed him and told him to lay her down, also kissing that slightly droopy fat cheek on his shoulder and smiling to myself.

Ah, amore.