The sound of my baby girl rousing in the next room jolts me from a fitful sleep. I try to block it out for a few more minutes, but her stirring is magnified by the monitor at my bedside. My eyes feel as though they’ve been glued shut, and I don’t want to peel them apart. The pangs of an early morning headache start to chisel away at my skull.
“I think it’s time to get up.” My husband Troy rolls over toward me, half of his face sinking into the pillow.
“I can’t.” I squint my eyes against the morning light. My energy is sapped, and I’d do anything to stay hidden under the covers after being up three times last night.
I believe I’m in the advanced stages of sleep deprivation. The only thing I can focus on is the pain pounding at the base of my head in time to my heartbeat. When I try to sit up, the pain bullies it’s way to the front, and it feels like I’m wearing a helmet that’s too tight.
Under doctor’s orders I’ve renounced my addiction; I’ve been clean since noon yesterday. He warned me that I’d go through withdrawals-a throbbing headache the most prominent symptom-but, I didn’t know it would be this bad.
“What time is it?”
“Six-thirty,” Troy says, craning his neck to see the clock.
My body is pleading with me. “Can’t I have just a little this morning?” I ask, peeking out from under the blanket.
He stares at me, a frown wrinkling his brow. “No.”
“That’s it? No?”
“It’s not good for the baby. You have to put the baby first.”
“I always put the baby first. But the withdrawals are worse than I thought they’d be.”
“Maggie, I’m not going to argue with you about it. Just take my advice and get over it.”
Get over it? It’s easy for Mr. Early Morning Sunshine to say, but he’s an anomaly.
“It’s such a hard habit to break,” I say, as I sit up and untwist my nightgown. “My head hurts, and I’m so tired. It’ll only get worse if I can’t have some.”
“Think of the baby,” he says. “Maybe breastfeeding isn’t for you.”
“What? You think I should stop nursing?”
“No, but I do think you should cut out the caffeine, just like the doctor said. It’s your choice, but you know it makes the baby irritable.”
I sigh. “What about half-caff? I’ll do half decaffeinated, and half regular.”
He sits up on the edge of the bed, and leans over to give me a morning-breath kiss. “Nope.”
As I hear my baby start to cry, my body responds, ready to nourish. Only for her will I give up my drug of choice.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.