the girl who made me a momma

She hurts. I hurt. Daddy hurts.
 We were up all night worried sick about our first child, Molly. Yes, she is a dog. Yes, she is our child. I have always loved her crazy-hard, but when she's sick, my love reaches new limits. Like my heart is outside of my body and it's not okay unless she is okay. The fear and pleading in her eyes broke my heart last night. She was restless and uncomfortable. When she finally settled down, who cared that her front arms (read: bony elbows) were digging into my ribs, or that the weight of her head was directly on my (sensitive) chest. My baby was finally lying down and relaxing, and I wasn't about to move, no matter how much pain I was in. Because that's what mommies do.
I didn't sleep. Neither did Daddy. We wanted to hear very breath, and every movement she made caused concern. Somewhere around 2am, Zac whispered to me "I can't take it if she doesn't make it." My eyes filled with tears at the thought, I swallowed a hard lump, then told him "everything will be okay," because that's also what mommies do.
Our girl has thrown up a hundred times in her nine and half years of life. She's had diarrhea before too. But this time her little personality has changed. She's miserable. That very reason is what has us so worked up. Shes scared and uncomfortable and her eyes look at us like "please help me! What's going on? Do something mommy." And that's why we can't stand this. We're helpless.
Even though we all know parenting brings the biggest rewards, times like this remind us that a love this strong can also bring the biggest heartache. Praying that Molly feels better pronto, so we can start feeling better too. It's unbearable seeing her so helpless.