With tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.
There is a newborn baby somewhere in the vicinity and its killing me.
The vicinity of my bedroom.
It doesn’t seem to be a happy baby, because it_(and when I mean “it” I mean he/she)_is_constantly_crying. At 11pm, at 1.30am, at 3am, at 5am, and yet still at 6am.
It is unrelenting. A sleep deprivation machine.
I don’t know this for certain, but I assume that I am the only person not related to it (I mean he/she), that is affected by it (I mean he/she). I am its pseudo mother.
I may as well be up breastfeeding and singing it back to sleep (and yep, I can hear the Dad singing to it at the aforementioned times). Which it only seems to do randomly.
Jay doesn’t hear it at all. He doesn’t even hear it when I wake him up to shut the sliding door with his foot. And I can still hear it, faintly, through the closed-door.
My questions are:
- why don’t the family shut the bloody windows?
- why am I the only person in the Williams’ household that hears the little creature?**
- when will it grow out of this incessant insomnia?
- why does the father think the entire Beatles repertoire will lullaby he/she back to sleep?
I understand pain. I understand stress. I can deal with most things in a rational manner. But this baby is killing my dreamtime. I am definitely not ready to have a baby of my own. Im not in the same ballpark, hemisphere, universe or solar system.
I honestly thought Jay’s snoring was the worst noise to cut through the circadian rhythms, but this baby is something else.
**Jay, in all his Freudian wisdom, thinks that Im the only one to hear it because its my maternial instincts kicking in. What.Ever.