@bcstofwivesâ said: đŁ // Meme
    It was well past 3 oâclock in the morning when John heard the whimpers coming from down the hall; the candle burned down to hardly more than a stub as he poured over the the medical textbook.Â
    He knew it was insane, to consider going back to school at the age of 28, to become the physician heâd always desired to be, but he had to try. Heâd nearly died, at the tail end of the war, and for what? So he could simply go back to London and live a façade, to pretend he had any interest in practicing law? Assuming he would even be permitted after abandoning the country in favor of fighting with the Patriots. He couldnât do it, he knew his father wanted him to, but he just couldnât. John was about ready to turn in, struggling to remain focused on the words now swimming across his vision, his eyes closing involuntarily as he fought to remain awake; between the late hour and the medication he was taking to help manage the pain as he recovered, it seemed he was not likely to retain anything else tonight. He heard the noise again, and realized it had to be the baby. He stood and tugged open the door of the spare room he read (and sometimes slept) in; Eliza and Alex had been more than welcoming, and while he usually fell asleep beside them, it still felt rather awkward to barge into their room while they were sleeping to join the married couple when he had been staying up much later than they did.Â
    The Southerner poked his head out into the hallway, and the sound drifted down, becoming slightly more distressed as time passed; something told him this wasnât neglect on their part, but exhaustion. Babies took so much energy, especially given he was their first, and little Philip was an especially energetic boy during the day, tiring his parents out long before himself. Debating for a moment, John shook his head and made his way to the nursery, careful not to wake the other inhabitants of the house. Sure enough, when he stepped into the nursery, the dark-haired infant was wide awake and crying, his face red and fat tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.
    â Hey now, whatâs all this about? â  John bent down and scooped up the young child, carefully cradling him against his chest with his forearm under the boyâs head for support.  â Shhh, itâs okay. Iâm here now. Whatâs wrong, whatâs got you so upset, love, hmm? â He checked him over, but he didnât seem to need changing, and he knew it was too early yet for his next meal. â Did you have a nightmare? Did you have a nightmare? â He lightened his tone, and pressed his nose against Philipâs forehead, nuzzling him, eliciting a somewhat wet-sounding gurgle he interpreted as a laugh. He grinned, sitting down in the nearby rocking chair and bopped him gently on the nose.  â See? No reason to get so worked up. Honestly, youâre as dramatic as your father. â
    John hadnât thought anyone else had heard Philip, so when a shadow passed over the light spilling in from the window, he looked up and saw the lady of the house herself in the doorway. How long had she been standing there?  â Eliza. Iâm sorry, did the baby wake you? I thought I had gotten to him in time. â he apologized, knowing how much every little moment of sleep counted for a young mother.  â Heâs fine now. I think it was just a bad dream. â