Another Sleepless Night

As soon as I sit up in bed and start to pull back the blankets, Philip grabs my arm and says, “No.”  I hiss, “The baby’s crying,” but he doesn’t let go.  He just says wearily, “Gina, go back to sleep.”  He tries to pull me down, but I resist. 

“The baby is crying!” I say angrily, but he won’t let go.  “No, Gina, no. Please just go back to sleep,” he whispers again, and he sounds like he’s about to cry.  I’m no longer tired.  I just feel an intense and unforgiving anger that he won’t let me go to the baby.  She needs me.  I hear her cry ratcheting up from a soft whimper to a hiccupping, desperate wail.  I yank my arm out of Philip’s grasp.  “You let me go to my baby!” I demand, and I slide out of the bed before he can grab me again.  The bed creaks behind me as Philip gets up to follow me down the hall.

I don’t turn on the light because it hurts. I fumble for the doorknob and ease myself into her room.  The moonlight is casting a shadow over her crib, but I can hear her sobbing frantically.  Even without seeing her, I know she is waving her arms, begging me to pick her up.  Philip tries once more as I step into the room.  He puts his hand gently on my shoulder and says, “Gina, please, please, come back to bed.”  I shrug him off and hurry to the side of the crib.

Philip gives up as I peer down into the impossible darkness.  She’s crying.  I can hear her.  But no matter how hard I reach, I can’t touch her.  “Amy, where are you?  Amy, come here.  Mama’s here, Amy.  Come here to me,” I call.  I try to keep my voice soft and calm, but I break as I’m speaking.  I wave my hand inside the empty space of the crib, feeling nothing but a freezing cold that crawls up my arm.  “Amy,” I sob, “Please, baby, come here.”

Philip leans against the doorway.  “Gina, I don’t think she can hear you.”

I whirl around and scream, “This is all your fault.  I told you the house was wrong.  I told you I could feel it.  YOU CAN’T FIX THIS, SO LEAVE ME ALONE.”  Philip nods.  “I can’t fix this,” he says tearfully.  Then he shakes his head and walks toward me. “I can’t fix this, and I can’t leave you alone,” he whispers as he clutches me to his chest and grips the side of the empty crib. Together we huddle against the wall of the nursery.  We spend another night listening to our child sob in a place we cannot see or reach.

Entry for Love Bites Blog Hop
 http://www.officemango.com/2014/02/love-bites-blog-hop-2014/
Word count: 462 words