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He doesn’t answer. Crap.
Grabbing Emmie’s bouncer, I drag it over and buckle her in it before dropping to the ground in front of Miles. Rubbing my hands over his arms, I whisper, “Miles. Look at me.”
He still doesn’t. All I hear are his short, pained breaths.
I move closer, bouncing Emmie gently with my foot as I do.
“Babe, I need you to look at me. Please. I’m right here.”
He stays still. His shuddering breaths are his only movement.
I grip his arms tightly. “Tell me something you can hear.”
It takes a moment, but he finally lifts his head, revealing his tear-stained face. “Her raspy breathing.”
I cup his cheek and wipe away the tears.
“What do you smell?”
“You. Your shampoo. Breast milk.”
“You’ve got a nose like Emmie’s. What do you feel?”
“You wrapped around me. Fuck.” He wipes his face and sniffs. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
His uncertain eyes find mine. “Because she’s sick. You haven’t slept. You’re taking care of her. You don’t need to be taking care of me and my crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” I say firmly.
“Tell that to my brain. I’m sitting here because I worked myself up into a panic thinking she’s going to get so sick she’ll die. There’s something wrong with me.”
His words turn my stomach. I’m not worried about that happening, but the thought is simply too much, and he’s living in it.
“There is nothing wrong with you. You’re stuck in an anxiety spiral. Let me help you out of it.”
“You shouldn’t have to. You shouldn’t have to take care of me. I should be taking care of the two of you.”
Without thinking, I flick him—yes, flick him—in the forehead.
He jolts back, but finally some of the haziness in his eyes dissipates.
“Did you just flick me?”
“Don’t do that. Do not tell me you should be taking care of me right now. You’re struggling, and that’s okay. You devote your life to Emmie and me, and I love you for that, but I need you to let me take care of you too. Let me in and let me care for you the way you always care for me.”
He stares at me for a moment. “I feel weak.”
“You’re not weak because you need to be taken care of. We all need that sometimes. I know your triggers. I know this makes you feel helpless.” I scooch closer. “But look at her. Really look. She’s okay. Let’s try to reframe what helping her means in this situation. No, you can’t fix her, but you can comfort her. I have the boobs, but there’s nothing she loves more than snuggling on her daddy’s chest.” He looks over at her, some of the tension in his body slipping away.
I run my hands up his thighs. “She’s going to be okay. If you need a few minutes to breathe or relax or sleep, take them. You can’t burn your candle at both ends or you end up here. The more stressed you feel, the more anxious you get.” I drop my forehead against his. “Breathe, baby. I’m right here. There’s nothing weak about battling with anxiety. Sometimes you have to regroup so you can come back stronger and kick its ass.”
“Thank you… for seeing me even when anxiety clouds in around me.”
“I always see you. Feel you. Love you.” Lifting my head from his, I run my hand over his cheek. “Have some grace for yourself.”
He nods, then kisses my head. “Just so you know, you always help me. By being next to me and holding my hand, you help. I don’t want to stop you from helping me, but I hate that my anxiety is so debilitating at times. Like right now when we’re both exhausted and pulling an all-nighter.”
