It was such a simple Sunday moment—Gracie and I heading out for choir practice. Our nanny was off for the day, and as usual, I opened the gate myself. I parked the car just outside, planning to lock up quickly and drive off. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But then, in a blink, everything changed.
The neighbour’s gate opened. And their dogs—big, loud, fast—came running out. One of them, a huge white dog, bolted straight toward my car. My heart stopped. My whole body went cold.
All I could think was: Did I leave the driver’s door open? Did Gracie decide to come out and follow me? Are the dogs circling her right now?
It was only a few seconds, but my mind flashed through a thousand terrifying images. The kind of images that only come when you’re a mother and your child might be in danger. I sprinted back to the car, praying I had remembered to shut my door.
And I had.
Gracie was inside, calm and completely unaware, busy with her own little world. The dogs sniffed around, but we were safe. I locked the gate and got back into the car, my hands shaking, heart thudding like a drum in my chest. We were fine. But I wasn’t okay—not yet. That moment had landed deep.
What scared me most wasn’t the dogs. It was the thought that I might have failed to protect her. That in just a few seconds, something could have happened to the one person I love more than anything.
That moment reminded me of something I don’t always acknowledge: how deeply motherhood wires us. Not just to care, but to sense, to react, to be ready for danger we can’t even see yet. Even when life seems calm on the outside, our bodies carry a silent readiness. That’s love. That’s instinct. That’s the nervous system of a mother.
I share this not because I want sympathy—but because these little everyday stories are the real moments of motherhood. The ones that show how present we are. How alert. How protective. How loving. And how after the fear settles, after the heart slows down, what’s left is deep, quiet gratitude. She was safe. We were okay.
And maybe next Sunday, I’ll still open the gate myself. But I’ll do it knowing that I’ve got a mother’s reflexes, a heart that never stops scanning for safety, and the kind of love that runs faster than fear ever could.