The Sons of Adam
“Lottie sat up against a mountain of pillows. Her white nightgown hung half open. It was 12 March 1930. Their third child, Polly, born four months earlier, had fallen asleep during feeding, her tiny mouth still closed over her mother’s nipple. Lottie softly drew the baby away and closed her gown. She smiled.
‘You’re not tired?’ asked Alan.
‘It’s three in the morning, my love. Of course I am.’ Alan caught hold of Lottie’s foot beneath the bedclothes and massaged it. His wife was the only woman he... knew – or rather, the only rich woman – who took care of her newborns herself, going to the extraordinary lengths of breastfeeding them, even at night. Even now, on their third baby, Alan wasn’t sure if he admired Lottie for it, or would rather she stopped.
‘You must take care of yourself too,’ he said.
‘That’s precisely what I am doing.’ ‘We could have someone just for the nights, if you wanted.’ ‘Yes. If I wanted, I could.’ Alan shook his head and smiled.MoreLess
‘You’re not tired?’ asked Alan.
‘It’s three in the morning, my love. Of course I am.’ Alan caught hold of Lottie’s foot beneath the bedclothes and massaged it. His wife was the only woman he... knew – or rather, the only rich woman – who took care of her newborns herself, going to the extraordinary lengths of breastfeeding them, even at night. Even now, on their third baby, Alan wasn’t sure if he admired Lottie for it, or would rather she stopped.
‘You must take care of yourself too,’ he said.
‘That’s precisely what I am doing.’ ‘We could have someone just for the nights, if you wanted.’ ‘Yes. If I wanted, I could.’ Alan shook his head and smiled.MoreLess
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