Thht. Schwap.

It's 4:30 a.m.

I'm listening to Eric breathe.

I guess this is a cool thing about married life--that my husband is always there beside me, even when I wake up in the middle of the night. And I can just lay here awake and listen to him breathe.

Tonight, there's something of a catch or a click in his breathing.

Actually, I just stirred from a dream in which I must've been listening to a tennis match. I remember the unmistakable sound of a volley--the schwap... thht, schwap... thht... schwap.... And I also remember my confusion at the pace--that it seemed far too slow, too even. Like a tennis match in slow motion.

But now that I'm awake and listening to the in-and-out, and that curious catch... Well, now I know why I thought I was listening to a strange tennis match in my dream.

Schwap... thht, schwap... thht, schwap...

Regardless, there's some comfort in that.

But, lately, because I haven't been sleeping well and have been up and down so much in the night, there's also a bit of nervousness connected with that cadence of his breathing.

I don't want it to skip a beat.

I was so thankful in those first couple of weeks when it became obvious the man sleeps like a rock, and all my turning and milling about didn't disturb him. But now I think I've got him a bit concerned--I've been really fighting something, and missed three out of five days last week at work--so he stirs, too. It's bad enough, not being able to sleep. But it's worse, making your husband--who needs his sleep, to recharge for another day at LPHS--lose sleep.

So I'm here--at 4:30 a.m.--wide awake and listening to the rise and fall (and volley) of Eric's breathing.

And praying it doesn't catch.