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Short dark waves fall over the pillow. Near death excitement takes a toll out of little guys.
"I can't believe he thought to do that." Even the fear can't stop the pride leaking through his voice.
"He didn't think to do it, James. He's two."
"Our little man is smart."
"It was instinct."
The tiny Santa Claus twirls near his face, swinging above Neal's bed.
"Okay, I'll give you that this time. But he's also gotten himself out of scrapes before with thought and calculation."
"He could have been killed. I know you're excited to have a boy but we need to discuss his gifts together. No more surprises."
He pulls her into his arms, remembering how close his son had come to death, how neither of them would have gotten to him in time. He'd have been a common statistic.
"I'm so sorry."
"Is this worry what being a parent will always be like?"
"Isn't it supposed to be?" Then he tilts his head, considering. "He's a survivor, right?"
She kneels down, brushes a stray lock from a tiny temple.
"I want him to do more than survive."
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thanks for reading