Last night was the worst gas night we’ve had yet. Usually the boob puts him to sleep for a good 2 hours at least, but this time he whimpered for most of the night and well into the morning. It’s hard to see him uncomfortable. But it’s not as catastrophic as it used to be for me because I know he’s ok overall and that it will pass.
By 12p he was smiling again so we hopped in the stroller and took a nice long walk across the city to the Sydney Writers Festival. Most of the talks are piped outside to the people who couldn’t squeeze in the rooms so we sat in the sun and listened to a writer talk about her experience facing her racism when she adopted an aboriginal boy and an 80 year old Polish woman talk about being captured by the Nazis. She and her group were to be killed the next day and were forced into a dirty room to wait. She asked for a bucket of water and cleaned the room. “You know what’s going to happen tomorrow?” they asked her. And she said, “tomorrow is tomorrow. Today I’m not going to live like a pig.” When she woke the next morning, the rest of her group was gone but she was spared.
It reminded me how lucky I am and I looked at Gus and wondered if he will continue to live in peace and not see that kind of destruction or the kind that’s brought by nature like China has just experienced.