It’s 3 am.
More aptly, I’m awake because H is awake. H isn’t happy, nor am I. His struggle is my struggle and as he whines and moans and kicks my inner dialogue bats around inappropriate words towards him (at 3 am even 7-month-olds are capable of being labeled ‘assholes’) but also that motherly instinct – I’m concerned for him, he’s obviously not happy as he whines and tries to sleep. 369 more words