I’m writing this on my phone as it softly plays lullabies and I rock my (temporarily?) peaceful baby.

I have teardrops on my shoulder, trickling down my back one by one. But he’s quiet. For now.

Whatever pain he’s experiencing, I feel too. I want desperately to soothe and calm him so he can get the rest he needs. I want to figure out a magical formula to keep his tears away.

Our souls are connected, but that isn’t enough for me to be able to understand what is happening in him. It seems like I’m simultaneously everything he needs and completely useless.

These nights are hard. Because I’m tired, yes. But mostly because I love my baby, and he is suffering. That’s so much worse than my own suffering. Or… are his suffering and mine so intertwined that you can’t separate them?

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