ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
Three weeks. Grace was three weeks old and I was pretty sure I hadn't slept more than two hours straight since she was born.
"She's crying again," I mumbled into my pillow.
Alex was already getting up. "I'll get her."
"No, it's my turn. You got her last time."
"Elena, you're exhausted. Let me."
But I was already stumbling out of bed, my body moving on autopilot. The nursery was right next door. Grace's cries got louder as I approached.
"I'm coming, baby. Mama's coming."
I picked her up from the crib. She was red-faced and furious, her little fists waving.
"What's wrong, huh? Diaper? Hungry? Just mad at the world?"
I checked her diaper and it was dry. So she's probably hungry, again. This kid ate constantly.
I settled into the rocking chair and started nursing. Grace latched on immediately, her cries stopping like magic. The room fell quiet except for the soft sounds of her eating.
