|The baby was screaming again. Not crying. Screaming.
I've done everything the parenting books say to do. Tried to feed her? No good. Check the diaper? Dry with not even a hint of rash. Burp her? One big belch, then back to screaming. About the only thing that works is constantly walking back and forth, the baby bouncing on my shoulder, me softly cooing and patting her back as she screams herself to sleep.
And while I pace my usual route, shown by the worn path in the carpet, I begin to dream again. My friends once told me I was born in the wrong century. I belong in a time with knights and nobles and chivalry. The only problem is, I don't like the idea of being a damsel in distress. I want to be more than a pretty face the men fight for. I want in on the action!
So I visualize myself, riding a huge black draft horse through the woods, dressed in a dark brown leather corset over a forest green riding dress, a bow drawn in my hand as I chase monsters and villains through the woods. I would be a strong woman, a mystery the men of those days couldn't comprehend. Kings would seek me for my wisdom and my love, but they would find nothing can tie me down.
But really, that is the dream of a younger woman. I have a new dream now. In fact, despite the screaming spells and hard times, I wouldn't change what I have now. Especially when the face sleeping on my shoulder is so sweet.
© Copyright 2012 Theodore Laurence - Survived! (UN: theolaurence at Writing.Com).
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