It’s not supposed to be like this. You want a re-do. After a long sleep. You’re cataclysmically tired. Tell yourself, Next time will be better. Nod. Wrap your howling baby in a plastic bag. Throw it in the bin.
He’s screaming again. Face puce, rigid fists flailing. Thirty minutes this time. Who knows why? He ate an hour ago. You prepare piping-hot food microwave-quick. He gobbles it down lickety-split. Spits it out just as quick. Shrieks even louder. You checked the temperature first—you think. He’s impossible to please. You’ve always been so capable. Now nothing you do is right.
It’s not supposed to be like this. You want a re-do. After a long sleep. You’re cataclysmically tired. Tell yourself, Next time will be better. Nod. Wrap your howling baby in a plastic bag. Throw it in the bin. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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