She slept poorly last night. I slept poorly last night. Now my eyelids fight me to close themselves. I can’t sleep. I have to hold her so she can sleep because I’m taking her to the doctor later to have a look at her ear. The bloody one. But the other ear is not so good either, what with the yellow crusties. Both have an odor of infection. Her neck, too, but that’s beginning to look better.
Children bring so much worry. Why worry? If I don’t worry, maybe she will die, like that child who kept crying because he was trying to nurse from his mother’s breasts but she wasn’t producing any milk and who eventually starved. It only took three days. Is the second one easier? Are you more relaxed? they ask. No. She is easier because she is easier. Not because I’ve relaxed. When she is awake she seems agitated, as if she is trying to claw her ears right off her head. In the morning she had blood on her swaddle sack, despite having her arms pinned all night. Except for when I changed her diaper. That might have been when it happened. Poor dear. She suffers.
It feels so sweet to close my eyes, even for a moment. But, no, vigilance. I have to plan. In half an hour or so I need to leave. How to minimize awake time, and crying? The little wheels in my head plot. The little wheels ground to a halt. So tired.