Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.


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"The Mahr"

The following letter was sent to a neighbor shortly before the death of the woman who wrote it.

The last couple of months I have been plagued by a recurring nightmare. Although it is common for people my age to have this sort of dream, the frequency of it has become frightening, and I am beginning to see him even when I am awake. Its isn't anything clear, just a flash of image, or a lingering form in my peripheral vision. I have tried to explore it, through therapy and talking with my family. My grand kids are the only ones who will listen, and I hesitate to tell them, even if I just want to know someone believes me. Though my children don't like it, they still will let their kids come and gather around me when they visit, wanting to hear more about the Mahr.

The dream begins on the porch of the cabin my father used to own when we lived in Montana. Though I am the age I am now, all the things are proportioned as they were when I was a young girl. All around w the cornfields I remembered, towering over me. The golden ears of corn hang loosely on their stalks, waiting for them to be harvested. There is a chill in the air, and the sky is overcast, nearing dusk. The air is flecked with moisture, a drizzle of rain laying like a blanket on my skin.

I stand up and go to head inside when I hear a scream coming from the cornfields. I turn around, knowing I should just go inside but willing myself to investigate all the same. I take my first step down the porch, each one resounding with the sound of my heals hitting the wood. I reach the bottom, and at first that is where it would end. But each night I would get one step closer to the cornfields, my actions becoming automatic. I only stopped walking when I heard the sound of something coming.

At first I saw nothing, only noting the parting of the stalks in the distance. And then, way off, far from me but easily visible above them was a shadowy form. I knew he was a man, his walk without any delicacy, his shoulders too broad. Like myself it seemed his movements were automatic, as if no will was placed on them. Just continuous action.

Nighttime nursing doesn't disturb my sleep

On Toddler Breastfeeding

Nursing at night is a common point of contention. I've read and heard so many comments about baby sleep patterns that are completely opposite of my experience, I wondered if the commenters even had kids. What were they doing that made their experience so much different than mine? Did I figure out the magic that allows me to sleep and feel rested without night weaning?

At first I didn't trust my experience because I only had one child. That's only one data point. Kids are so different. Sleep patterns can vary wildly from one child to another. Then I had my second kiddo. And that's when I started to feel like I was some weird phenomenon. I nursed two kids, at night, on demand, and still woke up most mornings feeling rested. What was I doing so differently?

This is about nursing at night, not just sleeping right? Yes. I've realized that my attitude around their sleep habits have allowed me to nurse at night, on demand, and get the sleep I need too. Because we cosleep and I don't freak out when they wake me up at night, I can nurse and fall asleep nursing like I was never awake. I rarely wake fully. My mind and body have come to expect the night nursing sessions and have adapted such that I can be available to them in a zombie like quasi sleep state. My mind is lucid enough to get a nipple to the right place, then I'm off to sleep again the next instant.

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