Eight Days

The sudden silenc e jerks me out of my dreams. For a brief moment , I try to

react to what I was dreaming--som ething with the characters from a TV show I

watched before bed--bu t then I realize it wasn’t real. Everything in it seem ed

normal while I was st ill asleep, but now, it makes n o sense. Dreams are funn y that

way. I stop trying to rememb er it, and the details disso lve into nothingness .

I look around in the darknes s, my eyes still heavy from sl eep. The fan is off.

The air is still. Did I forget to turn it on? I look to see what time it is, s quinting at the

alarm clock on the nightstand, but the familiar green glow of the oversized numbers

is not there, either.

Davey makes a tiny sound in his s leep, easily audible in the si lent room. I roll

over and gently touch his little, swaddled form in the basinet, which I’d pulled up

right next to my side of the bed. To comfort him, I tell mys elf, even though I know it

was really for me. Money’s tight, and Davey’s b irth cost us more than we exp ected.

John is already back at work. We need the extra money that the graveya rd shift

pays. Still, I m iss him, and the n ights are lonely withou t him. Sometimes I wake up

crying, but I don’t know wh y. He’s been gone before. Bus iness trips, late ni ghts,

and now the graveyard shift. He comes home exhausted almost every time. His job

pays the bills, but it’s really wearing on both of us.

“It’s okay,” I whisper to Davey. “The power just went out. It’ll come b ack on

soon.”

I hope I’m right. It’s the middle of summ er, and it’s in the eighties even a t

night. Air conditionin g is a life saver around here, and I wo rry about it getting too

hot for Da vey. He is only seven days old, eight if it’s p ast midnig ht. I’m pretty sure

it is.

He gives a little sigh. One of those little adora ble sounds I just can’t get

enough of. I want to pick him u p right then and there and ho ld him. It’s amazing

how fast I fell in love with him. The instant I saw him, there was no doubt, no

question. How, even with the amazing amount of attention a newborn needs,

between diapers and feeding and everything else, I want him as close as possible,

so that he won’t have to wait even one extra second before I can be there for him.

I wonder how long it’ll be befo re he wakes up for another feed ing. Time

seems to have no meanin g for me anymore. Sometimes it’s l ight, sometimes it’ s

dark, but the routine is the same. When we first brought him home from the

hospital, I was determ ined to be the best mom in the wo rld. Now, I feel like a

zombie cow . After I feed him, I fa ll back as leep, somet imes before he is do ne. I feel