The baby cries and I rise like a ghost to go to him. It feels like a dream to be summoned this way and to be alone together, warm and close, when everyone else is sleeping. It’s the days that get to me, not the nights.

After his feed, my fragrant little bundle settles on my chest and we relax on the couch to sleep a few hours until dawn.

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Literally Beside Myself

Anne Casey-Hardy

Winter 2020

Embrace Australia’s finest writers

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Embrace Australia’s finest writers

Fiction

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