"My boyfriend had gone back to work. When he came back every night, I was throwing her in his arms because I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was crying all the time and was daydreaming about getting the hell out of there. It was a recurrent thought: to leave my daughter in her pack-n-play, grab my suitcases and, when he’d come back from work, I wouldn’t say anything to anyone and I’d check-in the nearest hotel, not coming back home for at least two days. I didn’t do it. I would never have done it. It was a legitimate request, had I asked or planned it, but I knew she wouldn’t eat anything if I were gone. She wouldn’t co-sleep with her dad either. He’s not the one who slept with her for eight months, motionless all night on the small edge of the bed. I don’t believe he ever understood what was really going on. Maybe it would have been different if we hadn’t been both so sick or if my mother didn’t die. Perhaps. It’s hard to trace the limit between exhaustion and normal fatigue. You have a child and you expect to have less energy. People keep telling you that it’s normal and that it’ll pass. So then you think to yourself 'Ok, I’m not going to complain, everyone must go through this.' But after a while I thought, 'I knew this was supposed to hurt, but is there a time when it’s not normal anymore to be in such pain?'"