Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Clara

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At first her cries are far away. I'm asleep, warm and still. I want to ignore the noise so far away from me, hoping it can't reach me where I am. Her cries get louder and closer. I know I have to wake up, but the bed clings to me and my body feels paralyzed. I want to drift back to sleep but I force myself to slip out from under the covers and feel the cold air. I reach for her in the crib. She's hungry. She's always hungry at night now that I've started work, and she refuses to drink from a bottle.

My thoughts are fuzzy as I hold her. She nestles against me and drinks big gulps. I yawn and fight the urge to fall forward and back into sleep. I try and focus on holding her while sitting upright on the edge of the bed.

"I love you more than the cool spring rain," I whisper as I look out the window. Yellow streetlights dimly illuminate the neighboring houses and ghostly white clouds streak across the night sky.

"I love you more than the bright tulips and the sweet-smelling hyacinths," I say. "I love you more than the green buds on the trees." It's a game I've started playing to stay awake. Tonight the theme is spring.

Whispers of the Night by Anna Starkova. See more of Anna's work at www.starkovagallery.com

She was born a stranger with purple wrinkly hands on a hot, August night. It's hard to believe now, on this cool March evening, that I haven't always known her. I know her rosy cheeks and the way her nose turns up a little at the end. I know that she loves growling noises and playing peekaboo. Her favorite toy is a rubber teether called Knobby Q that my husband Tom got from the grocery store.

Although tired, I hold her with ease, unlike our first meeting when I didn't know what to do with my hands. She nurses until she's asleep, her breathing deep and slow. I kiss her forehead and feel her warmth, a contrast with the cool night. My brain is foggy so I only let myself hold her for a second before I lower her back in her crib.  She immediately flips to her stomach with a grunt and I brace myself for her cries, but she falls silent. My side of the bed is now cold and I slip under the covers and move toward Tom's warmth. I try to keep my eyes open for as long as possible, a trick that helps me fall back asleep faster. Soon my eyes are heavy with long, slow blinks, and I can feel myself drifting away. My mind relaxes and my body is still.

She cries.

No, no, no. I panic.

Tom lets out a deep groan.

Her cries are getting louder. Although it doesn't take Tom long to reach her, I'm mad at him for every wail. He is waking her up and it will be my job to soothe her. I hear him shushing and rocking her, but it does nothing. He moves out of our bedroom and down the hall into the nursery that we still barely use. She screams more as he changes her diaper and I bury my head into my pillow.

She's quiet again when he's back in the room and I let myself relax. Maybe, just maybe, it's time for sleep again.

"I think she needs to eat," Tom says.

"She just ate," I snap. The thought of getting out from underneath my covers again seems impossible.

"Well, she's sucking my arm."

I fling the covers off.  "Give her to me."

She doesn't want to eat and only wants me to hold her. She drifts off almost immediately, her breathing once again deep and slow. I hold her for a little while, my mind clearer now. I try to muster all the love I have for her, but I just want to be alone in my bed. Tom is already asleep and I shoot invisible bullets at him with my eyes. In less than two hours I will need to be awake for the day. My alarm will go off, and although it'll seem unthinkable, I'll have to get out of bed. Anxiety fills my chest and I glare at my sleeping husband and daughter. I need to sleep and dream and be still. I look back out the window at the dark, silent houses that look so inviting and wish I was in one of them. There, sleep would be quiet and peaceful and nothing would disturb me. I'd wake after the birds started their morning songs and the sun was bright in the sky. I'd be the perfect mother who never yelled or cried.

I look at the little form in my lap and know that years from now things will be different, and I won't always wake to her in the darkness, but it doesn't feel real. Tonight, the night is endless. I look to the warm glow of the streetlights for company—my daughter's skin pale in comparison, and wish for sleep.


Katie Farrell is a writer and collection management librarian. She lives in Upstate New York with her husband, daughter, and son.


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Anna Starkova is a wife, a mother, and a fine artist. There are many more roles she plays every day but those three are the most important roles in her life that fulfill her as a person. Art has always been her biggest passion since childhood. Although she chose business education, she has never let her inside artist down. She has taken multiple classes at art studios and museums, but mostly she learned on her own and she continues mastering her techniques all the time. Her relocation from Moscow, Russia to Boston, MA in 2009 was fundamental to her. She started painting more and more, opening up her soul, revealing her emotions. She has received several awards and been selected to participate in many juried art exhibitions throughout New England and New York City. Her paintings are in private collections all around the world: USA, Russia, UK, Belgium, Sweden, Australia, UAE, India, and Japan.


I absolutely love this essay! It is so truthful, so descriptive, and also humorous. The writing evokes many sensory images, and subtly conveys a lot about the relationships in way that readers can identify with.
To preface, I don't have any kids and am still in the process of deciding whether that would be a suitable option for my preferences, however, that does not mean I can't feel the author's thoughts through this eloquent piece. The author does a great job of painting the setting and describing her feelings as a mother, although I don't have any kids I could understand these feelings clearly through her writing. I laughed at some points while reading the parts that referenced her husband which was a nice change of pace and a very realistic painting of what she must have been feeling at the time. I also really liked how Katie drew together the ending with her feelings of wishing to not be so tired with her child and how much Katie wished for sleep. Great piece and great read!
Great piece that shows the beauty in every moment of suffering. I found myself nodding at that strange mix of exasperating rage and unconditional love that new parents know so well.
Oh this got me right in the heart. I know this feeling so well. Beautifully expressed <3
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