Child Psychiatrist Jonathan Schwartz Ph.D., who—full disclosure—is also my husband, claims that the book’s predictability is perfect for young readers. Although my background is less illustrious, I have read said text an estimated thousand times more than Jonathan Schwartz Ph.D.
My arm aches from holding my cellphone to my ear with so many calls from her today. I lean into the armrest. I don’t tell her that I’m also tired, tired of worrying that she will die alone, without me, with only a stranger in a protective suit and an N95 facemask to comfort her.
There is before and there is after. Nothing else matters some days, but this morning I hear the horses nickering gently to each other in the corral outside my window, waiting for me to get up and feed them.
Wasn’t sleep training supposed to last forever? Apparently not. More water, another book, another hug, two trips to the bathroom, more water…At least now they are asleep. Ah, a quiet home. Is there anything holier?