| rdfs:comment | - My wife must hate me. She gave birth two weeks ago and I kept refusing her requests for me to hold the child. I’m not a bad person. Really, I’m not. Ever since we got home from the hospital, she keeps herself cooped up in the baby’s room, rocking her tightly wrapped bundle to sleep. I avoid walking by, or she’ll ask me to hold it. I can’t stand to look at it. I never wanted this to happen, not to her, not to us. But I am not mad at her. How could I be? I mean, it breaks my heart to see her rock it back and forth until she falls asleep.
|
| abstract | - My wife must hate me. She gave birth two weeks ago and I kept refusing her requests for me to hold the child. I’m not a bad person. Really, I’m not. Ever since we got home from the hospital, she keeps herself cooped up in the baby’s room, rocking her tightly wrapped bundle to sleep. I avoid walking by, or she’ll ask me to hold it. I can’t stand to look at it. I never wanted this to happen, not to her, not to us. But I am not mad at her. How could I be? I mean, it breaks my heart to see her rock it back and forth until she falls asleep. I knew coming back from the hospital empty-handed would be hard, but I never thought it would be this bad.
|
