(no subject)
The child woke her.
Or perhaps she woke the child. There was no way to be sure. She sprang up in her bed, drenched with sweat and a hand clutched to her frantically beating heart, blinking wildly about the room. He was crying. Her child was crying. Sobbing weakly in his cradle, and for a moment it sounded like a much older boy, a kind of melancholy awareness in the sound that such a small child shouldn't have.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she went to him, her scarred hands curving around the rail of the crib, and immediately the crying stopped. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes, his fathers eyes, and she stared back. Neither moved. Neither made a peep. Finally, she reached for him, propping him against her shoulder, a hand resting against the back of his fragile skull. Nearly six months old now and he was so strong. So much stronger than she'd ever feel again.
Sarah stepped out into the silent hall, her child fussing quietly now, his face tucked in the crook of her next, and she began to walk. Slow, steady steps, humming soothingly under her breath on the way to the kitchen.
Sometimes, being a mother wasn't so difficult at all.
[[Dated late tonight. Find her in the halls or already in the kitchen. Open to all. Italics indicate French.]]
Or perhaps she woke the child. There was no way to be sure. She sprang up in her bed, drenched with sweat and a hand clutched to her frantically beating heart, blinking wildly about the room. He was crying. Her child was crying. Sobbing weakly in his cradle, and for a moment it sounded like a much older boy, a kind of melancholy awareness in the sound that such a small child shouldn't have.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she went to him, her scarred hands curving around the rail of the crib, and immediately the crying stopped. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes, his fathers eyes, and she stared back. Neither moved. Neither made a peep. Finally, she reached for him, propping him against her shoulder, a hand resting against the back of his fragile skull. Nearly six months old now and he was so strong. So much stronger than she'd ever feel again.
Sarah stepped out into the silent hall, her child fussing quietly now, his face tucked in the crook of her next, and she began to walk. Slow, steady steps, humming soothingly under her breath on the way to the kitchen.
Sometimes, being a mother wasn't so difficult at all.
[[Dated late tonight. Find her in the halls or already in the kitchen. Open to all. Italics indicate French.]]