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My son has his first "real" cold. He woke about 4 this morning unable to breathe. Marie got up with him for an hour, then handed him off to me. I sat with him propped up against my chest and quietly sang as he fell back asleep. His rattle and wheeze dissipated into quite breathing as I whispered sweet nothings into his ear. He woke a bit after 7, which allowed me little time to drink coffee and prepare for work. I guzzled my joe, and barrelled through the morning routines, making it to work with seconds to spare.

I've never felt a love so profound and a rushed morning has never been so worth it.

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