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It hadn't occurred to me before, not seriously anyway, the thought of throwing in the towel stepping off a building leaving and never ever coming back. When Cece cries it bores into your brain, and echoes madly until you forget the sound or the thought of anything else, especially if she doesn't stop crying for hours. I look around at this house too-small with baby-crap everywhere, this housewomanly bullshit I am failing at so spectacularly, and all of everything that I need to have done yesterday, the endless list of things I want to/have to do that simply aren't happening. She doesn't cry she howls, and it is the sound of my failure and the life getting sucked out of me and my husband's rage as he wakes up and it feels like it's all my fault - you're her mom, she's your baby, for god's sake make her stop. The most desperate, shameful moment, I think of covering her mouth just so she'd be quiet for a while and then I think of all the parents who have accidentally killed their babies, driven insane, seized by the thought for just a second, and I feel like the worst mother in the world, but also small and empty at the same time, like a baby who has pulled off her diapers and pooped in her bed and has upset everything in the living room amidst the parental hustle and the ceaseless crying, alone and helpless, up all night barely able to breathe from screaming too hard AND THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG.

We are not so different, you and I, you, and extension of my being in that I love you like none other and I would do anything for you, as I seem to do pretty regularly, and I as your general service arm and source of entertainment, validation and needs-fulfillment. Sometimes life is hard on us both, hard on us all, and sometimes it just takes so little - the ash in the air stinging my eyes, goddamn slash-and-burn cultivators, everything needs to be done done done, pointless volunteer work politics (I MEAN REALLY?!), an angry man in my bed, most of all a tiny shrieking person good god