When it comes to the crunch

So there we were at the gym, minding our own business sipping on a healthy smoothie. The kids were signed into the kids club, happily enjoying their jungle gyms and tv game down time. 

We sat chatting about life, love and our future plans. Suddenly the gym alarm sounds and droves of people pushed their way to the exit. My other half, still in mid sentence fails to hear my concerns about the children, neither of us knew what was going on. Was this a gym routine? Was this a fire drill? Was this real? 

Suddenly the loudspeaker erupts with instructions to leave the building. "The kids!", I whispered. My whisper became louder as the words pushed the breath out of my mouth - "The kids!"

As I turned to investigate the commotion, hundreds of parents gathered at the doors of the kids club, followed by a team of health club personnel carrying medical equipment and a fire hydrant. 

Dad's chatting becomes quiet, I'm still repeatedly saying "The kids!" as I run toward the entrance, leaving him behind in my sprint toward the children. 
Where they alright? Where they alone? Had something fallen? What was going on!

As I pushed my way through a funnel of parents, I stood dead centre of the chaos trying to locate my two familiar, little faces. 
"False alarm", shouts the attendant. Someone had hit the emergency button by accident. I was furious. 

My heart fell, sank and stopped for a brief moment, resuscitated by view of my two children, safe and together and out of harms way. This must be what it's like to be a parent. To have your heart walk outside your body, vulnerable to the world's elements and dangers. 

As I held back tears, the adrenalin peaked and my emotions were almost uncontrollable. Dad stood laughing at the pandemonium, I'm angry at the thought that someone could have been so careless but relieved that the children are alright. 

It was in that moment that I realised that when it comes to the crunch, I love them more than I want to admit, more than I could fathom, more than I would be able to comprehend. 

Until this moment of potential tragedy occurred, I was blinded to our bond or at least to my instinctual protection over them. 
It was as if a curtain was raised before my eyes, revealing what my subconscious mind had been hiding from me -  my priorities. It was always them.