I remember those nights after my boy was born, the silence of the barrack replaced by the shallow, rapid respirations of a tiny human. I'd sit there, often from 0215 to 0400, eyes fixed on that infinitesimal rise and fall, convinced that the slightest wheeze was indicative of, what was it called, Sudden Infant Respiratory Distress Syndrome? Anyone else ever find themselves caught in that hypervigilant loop, performing a quasi-neurological assessment on a sleeping newborn, dreading some obscure pediatric pathology? That peculiar blend of fierce protectiveness and utter terror — it felt like an operational briefing gone horribly wrong, a scenario with no clear combat objective.