Warning: emotions.
Baby H (so named because “Toddler H” doesn’t have the same zing) wakes up screaming sometimes.
If you ever want to feel helpless (and honestly, why wouldn’t you?), try comforting a child who has no idea what’s going on.
I’ve tried imagining what’s going on in his head.
He’s two years old, alone in a dark nursery, and something’s terrifying him.
He could be hungry, or cold, or hot, or sick, or his sleeper’s too tight, or he’s confused, or he had a nightmare, or, or, or—
Sometimes I can figure it out and help him.
Sometimes I can’t.
And that breaks my heart.
That feeling of impotence, of seeing your child miserable and thinking I should be able to fix this…
It’s heavy.
It’s sobering.
It’s part of being a dad.
He always calms down eventually. The dawn always comes. And last night, when nothing I did brought him comfort, I had to hold onto that thought.
The dawn always comes.
I’ve always written with an optimistic hand. I believe in light, in goodness, in upward arcs and ultimate triumphs.
But some stories don’t seem to end that way.
Stories That Bleed doesn’t end the way you think it will.
It’s the first book I wrote after becoming a dad.
And I couldn’t have written it without these things:
The night terrors. And the dawn that comes after.
Addison
We’re trying to reach 100 followers on Kickstarter for Stories That Bleed—can you help? Once we reach that goal, I’m revealing the cover on my newsletter (and what a cover it is).
All you have to do is go to Kickstarter and click “Notify me on launch.”
