When the Night is Over (Blackbird Series Book 1) by Lily Foster

Author:Lily Foster [Foster, Lily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ShoreFront Books
Published: 2020-09-19T18:30:00+00:00

Charlotte

If you go out our back door and walk about a hundred paces to the left, there’s a boulder with a flat surface big enough to lie down on. It’s where I’m curled up right now on this chilly November afternoon. It’s four o’clock. Janelle has come to call it the witching hour.

Ethan will be seven months old tomorrow. And it’s not like he cries all day, he doesn’t. In fact, he’s a dream most of the time. But there’s something about this time of day that frays his nerves, and as a result of the high-pitched squeals that will not stop, it frays mine too.

About ten minutes ago I gave Janelle a look, grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch and walked outside, leaving Ethan in her care. My head and body are resting on solid rock and it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt all day.

Everyone tells you motherhood is hard. In fact, you hear it so often that you begin to ignore people when they start droning on about the lack of sleep, the anxiety, blah, blah, blah. I am currently wearing the baggy sweats I fell asleep in last night, I’m sure my hair looks like I fixed it with an egg beater, and my nostrils are being assaulted by the smell of stale breast milk. Ethan spit up on me earlier today. Several hours ago, in fact, and I still haven’t mustered up the energy required to shower or change.

Not every day is like this. Usually I get four hours between feedings, and after Ethan burps I fall back into a coma-like sleep right along with him. But last night I woke up off and on all night.

There are times when I’m plagued by anxiety over things that truly should worry me, and other times when I know I’m worrying over nothing. Last night I kept waking up breathless, thinking the baby was in bed with me and I’d rolled over onto him and he’d suffocated. He was safely in his co-sleeper each and every time. There are other nights when I lie awake fearful that he’ll die in his sleep—that the operation didn’t work and his poor little heart can’t pump blood the way it needs to keep him alive. I worry that he won’t be able to run around and play sports when he’s older, making mental notes at four in the morning to sign him up for lessons so he can learn to play a musical instrument. I worry that I’m not producing enough breastmilk, even though I’m leaking like a damn faucet and Ethan’s gaining weight at a healthy rate. I worry that we’re too far away from a decent hospital if and when something does go wrong. I worry that I’ll drop him. I just worry.

It’s days like today that I thank the Lord above for Janelle. I’m convinced she’s my fairy godmother. We are a team taking care of Ethan together. Since I’m breastfeeding I have the night

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