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might validate the nightmares. Crazy cartoon schemes float through my mind—giant strips of flypaper spread over the nursery floor at night, glue strong enough to trap an elephant; mouse traps placed strategically around the crib, in the closet, in the hallway; teaching the baby to sleep with all the lights on. I catch up on sleep with the baby, spend the day in a blur of waking up to thin cries from the child in my arms, feeding and changing, strange dreams. I barely wake up in time to get dinner ready, fix my hair and act like nothing’s wrong. I casually bring up the idea of having the baby sleep in the same room as the two of us that night, but let the idea die before my husband can begin to answer. His eyes are more tired and older than they’ve ever been before—he is growing less patient with me every day. I tuck my son into bed for what feels like the last time, as it has every night for the past week. I keep seeing things out of the corner of my eye, something huge and

Black Fox Literary Magazine Issue #3  

The Winter Issue of Black Fox Literary Magazine featuring new fiction, poetry, non-fiction and photography.

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