and then my heart stopped

It almost seems ironic that this would happen tonight after the conversation Mac and I had in the car this evening. We were talking about the NYC nanny murder story and the recent not guilty plea. Which led to our conversation about stupid shit people say at the worst times.

Mac: You know, I'm really tired of hearing people saying this god has a plan bull. Is that really comforting to anyone?
me: Beats me. What kind of god plans for a mother to have 2 children in her life for 5 and 2 years, only to walk into her home and see the end of their murders? Like seriously, that's a merciful being?
Mac: Yeah, well if we're ever in those shoes I'd better never hear those words come out of anyone's mouth towards me.
me: Nah, you know if it happens to us we'll have it even worse. I mean, at least this family had one child spared. We'll hear the "I bet you're really regretting that vasectomy now" at the funeral.
Mac: NO the hell I won't! I'll have who ever says that escorted out and we'll never see them again!
me: Not before I can say "I bet you're regretting those words" as I stab them in the throat. I'm going to wear steel toed boots to any funeral like that. And kick any asshole that says stupid shit. Sorry, Nixon, I shouldn't be cussing right now.
(When we got home I did give Nixon extra hugs and kisses and tell him we got upset thinking of him being taken from him because he is irreplaceable to us. He really is our one and only)


Which brings me to 20 minutes ago:

I spent some time in tonight in the spare bedroom working on my sewing machine. Nixon came in twice, asking for hugs and kisses (awww....I know, right??) When I was done I went to check on him.
His bed was empty.
I checked the bed in the spare room, which I had just left, thinking maybe I just hadn't noticed him.  But he wasn't there either.
I checked his room again. His bed was empty.
There was no Nixon-shaped limp on the floor.
Even the bathroom was empty.
Just as I was about to call to Mac, who was downstairs, in a panic I peeked in our bedroom. And there passed out, splayed all over the bed like he owned it, sleeping like an angel, was my baby boy.
I called Mac up and let him go room to room before showing him where Nixon was, but his panic wasn't nearly as bad as mine was.

For a one-millionth of a moment in time, I thought something had happened to him and my world was slowly spinning out of control.