midnight
When she lay sick , feverish and confused , in the first hours that followed the arrival of her first-born , she found her problem no longer that of the individual , no longer the question merely of little Martin 's crib and care and impending school and college expenses . It was the great burden of the mothers of the world that Susan took upon her shoulders . Why so much strangeness and pain , why such ignorance of rules and needs , she wondered . She lay thinking of tired women , nervous women , women hanging over midnight demands of colic and croup , women catching the little forms back from the treacherous open window , and snatching away the dangerous bottle from little hands -- ! `` Miss Allen , '' said Susan , out of a silence , `` he does n't seem to be breathing . The blanket has n't gotten over his little face , has it ? '' So began the joyous martyrdom .