4:17 pm. After an hour and thirty minutes of waking, I begin to sing the tune of "There was a very nice house ..." the song of despair that more or less goes like this:
My dear baby Jesus, do
sleep my little one, sleep
that does not want
like the worst evil.
My dear Infant Jesus,
You have pity on my little face? Tomorrow
working
And he will sleep then.
My dear Infant Jesus, You're
near his bed,
What most do not hear the screams and the arm and
'already slow.
(whispering)
My dear Child Jesus
Gently, gently I get up my baby sleeps maybe
(uaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah)
But no, triggered the alarm yet!
believe Isabel would not make it and sees no way out. Meditate on the use of remedies as it ends ...
suggestions before it's too late?
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