Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“You’re okay, baby girl,” I soothe as I rock us back and forth, trying to help her get back to sleep. Honestly, I think my words act more as a comfort to myself, reminding me that she’s still here in my arms, still breathing.
She can never be alone. If there was no one there to help her when she had an attack. Fuck, I can’t even think about what could happen. I would never forgive myself. When she gets older, she’ll be able to read the signs and know when to slow down and take her Ventolin, but now, being so young, her life is literally in the palm of my hands.
My little girl is the spitting image of her mother, and every time I look into those big blue eyes, my heart shatters all over again. She has the same strawberry blonde hair, the same soft curls, and after a long day at preschool, she even has the same feisty attitude.
Georgia saved my life, and I fear the day she grows up and moves out. I can’t wait to see the young woman she will become. I just hope I’m raising her right, that she aspires to be as amazing as her mother was. Though, I know my little girl. No matter what she wants to do or be, she will be extraordinary. I just hope that one day, she’ll find an intense, all-consuming love like I had with her mother, and I hope to God that she never has to know the pain of losing that.
Georgia cries in my arms as I try my best to calm her. The asthma attacks scare the living shit out of her, and rightly so. She’s too young to understand what’s actually happening and the dangers of it, but she knows she doesn’t like it, and fuck, I know she can sense how they destroy me.
She’s the perfect little daddy’s girl. She’s just as attached to me as I am to her. She’s my world, just as I am hers, and I wouldn’t have it any other way . . . apart from Sara. I’d give anything to be able to give my little girl her mom, but instead, we live through her memory, through the stories I tell her, and the pictures I hold so dear.
I tell Georgia about her mommy every single day. I know she would never be able to remember her from their one precious moment together, but at least she can know her through me. There’s so much I look forward to sharing with her—the day we got married, when we first fell in love in high school, and the day we discovered she was pregnant with Georgie.
When my sweet girl finally begins to calm and her tears run dry, I brush my hand over her head. “Are you okay, baby?” I ask as a yawn rips through her.
“No,” she pouts, her bottom lip wobbling and unintentionally breaking my heart.
“I know,” I tell her, keeping one hand on her back as I reach for her water bottle.
She greedily takes it from my hand, lifts it to her lips, and demolishes the entire thing before dropping it onto her carpet. Another yawn rips through her and, seeming settled now, I get up off the ground, lift her back into her bed, and tuck her in as I get in bedside her, hoping like fuck the worst has passed.
The soft melody of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star comes flowing from my mouth the same way I know Sara would have if she were here, and after twenty minutes of wheezing, my sweet Georgie finally falls back to sleep.
Confident this is it for the night, I get comfortable beside her, propping my head up under my arm as my daughter snuggles in close, knowing that tonight is going to be another sleepless night for me.
If another asthma attack comes on, I won’t be taking my chances. I’ll be rushing her straight down to the hospital for the fourth time this month. This is getting ridiculous. There must be something more I can do for her, but until then, this will be our lives.
She’s asleep for at least half an hour when the sheets become all too warm, and I let out a heavy sigh, realizing she’s just wet the bed. I should have known better than to let her drink so much water, especially when we’re right in the middle of toilet training.
I can only imagine the perfect little smirk Sara would give me if she were here now.
For the fourth time tonight, I wake my daughter. I get her cleaned up and into new pajamas before stripping her bed and throwing the wet sheets in the washing machine. Ten minutes later, I’m in my own bed with Georgie curled into my chest.