A buzzing. Thoughts of Pooh and bees. No. Must open eyes. Must move. Can't. Must cover the baby. What? Who? Coming up the stairs. No, my husband left for work. Did he lock the door? Oh the neck twinges. Once, I had a pillow under my head. Sweaty baby fingers find my hair and pull a little. Sniff. Sniff. Suck. Suck. Then the fog consumes. Where? How? Swishing sound like a winter coat on a moving body. Wait. No one's there. He's crying. Still asleep. I have to finish the laundry, clean the toilet. Paris? I can take a train to Paris? But should I go tonight? Alone? Seriously. Now my nose has trouble breathing, too. Not fair; he took NyQuil! Wow, baby feet are so cold! I must warm them up. You just ate. Now too hot. Sleep. Sleep again. Shhh, shhh, shhh. Someone's at the door; I'm sure of it! Still in my pajamas. But it's dark, dark, dark inside and out. We don't have a dog. Why is the dog barking? Or is the baby crying? No. He's asleep again. What is that sound? All I had to eat was hot chocolate and graham crackers. Of course I'll get sick too. Is it Friday or Tuesday? This sweater. This sweater hasn't seen the washing machine in days. Something crusty on the shoulder. Just five more minutes and then I will get to that list. Still that buzzing. . . .
"Tah, tah, tah."
Hello, sweet one! Yes, that's my nose. OK. OK. We can do this.
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