Phantom feedings

I have gone my whole life passively not killing anyone. I have never put a lot of effort into it, it has just come naturally. The only time I have really put effort into not killing someone was when I went with Mr. Neruda and his family down to visit his sister and her girls in Texas. This was about 2 weeks into our dating and I had not met any of his family before. While at the beach his youngest niece really took to me so I carried her out into the ocean for some floating fun. She was about 5 and pretty light weight. Until the riptide caught us and started dragging us out to where I could no longer touch. I started to call for help to Mr. Neruda and his dad but they couldn't hear me and it freaked her out. I basically used some luck, tenacity, and lifeguard training to scissor kick us to shore the best I could with her clawing every second of every stroke. Awful.

Apart from that traumatic experience not killing people has been easy. So I find it strange to be in the position to need to actively not kill someone constantly. Perhaps I am a little paranoid from the crazy hormones still surging through me, but death seems to be around every corner for my little man. I am constantly in fear that I will wake up and check on him and his blanket will be over his face with him cold, stiff and dead underneath. Or now he has a cold, I fear him choking and drowning on his snot, something that sounds plausible constantly with his rattling breath and moments where he just stops breathing for a while.

However, the worst of it are my phantom feeding sessions. I find myself waking up around three times a night with the exact feeling of cradling my baby in my arms. His weight and warmth are tangible. But when I become more conscious I notice that I am completely covered and that he must be under the covers. I panic and throw them away. He isn't there. I immediately think that he must have rolled off the bed when I threw the covers and check the floor. NOT THERE EITHER. Then, I have been known to hurl myself over the sleeping Mr. Neruda to check the bassinet. The only thing that can comfort me at this time is to see him swaddled in bed. Since swaddling takes time and effort it calms my crazies with the knowledge that someone put him down in a moment of wakefulness and calm and that all is right. I then fully awaken and feel like a scared idiot with Mr. Neruda looking completely freaked out warring between comforting me and throttling me. I guess we all need to actively not kill people sometimes.