Guantanamo Ba(b)y

Ada’s best friend is the Sun. Every time she wakes up, he is smiling down on her and she looks up at him, and beams.  He’s been her wake-up companion her whole life and sometimes she is so transfixed by him she will lie happily in her cot, playing, rather than screaming for our attention.

But last night, the Sun turned on her with an act so vicious it literally bordered on torture.

You see, the Sun is a touch-activated music/light toy, and someone (err…possibly me) had left him switched on when Ada went to bed.

At about 3am I woke to the sound of her screaming, and rushed in to her room.  It was like storming Guantanamo Bay.

Baby curled up in the corner of her cage, kicking violently against the bars.  An angry red light was flashing repeatedly in her face; it reflected off her tears, two small rivers of blood curling down her cheeks.  Loud circus music was blaring, clashing with the hysterical screams.  The foul smell of a fear-filled nappy.

It was a horrendous scene:


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