Warning. Texte écrit en Anglais. Si vous voulez une traduction, ça doit pouvoir se faire, n'hésitez pas à demander.
The silence of the room was only disturbed by the creaking of the cradle when the child minder got in. In the little bed, an infant was sleeping peacefully. The wet nurse sighed. If only it had been a toddler she had to take care of, maybe it wouldn't have been so difficult. But looking after infants was probably, as she decided at that precise moment, the worst thing that could have happened to her. She swore under her breath, loudly enough that the child stirred in his sleep.
"Come on, you. Wake up. I need to feed you, and I have other things to do !"
She shook the baby out of his slumber. The little one opened his melancholic eyes silently, looking at the woman bent over him, looking at him haughtily. He reached his arms at her so that she could take him in her arms. The nurse took the child to her bosom and, as she was breastfeeding him, thought of her job, her position in society. Really, she was the real victim there. Sacrificing herself for children she hardly knew, stripped of the care freeness of her youth. She should get more recognition. She was a model of resiliency, she was the steadfast Madonna enduring the browbeating of the harsh society around her. She put the nursling back into his cradle. Without a single look at the child left alone in the dark room, she got out, already away from her daydream, thinking about the next task she had to accomplish.
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