on affection.

the way those eyelashes shine in sunlight.
the perfect curve of a tiny ear.
the soft upturn of baby-soft hair.
the muffled sound of breathing while nursing.
a tiny hand, with dirty nails and pudgy fingers holding onto mine.
the long slope of an ever-growing spine.
late-night and early-morning grunts and shuffles, seeking nourishment.
i love this little boy. this little eli asher, who has discovered how to grasp and pull–clothes, blankets, pillows, and toys dangling above.
who wakes up happy, playful, talkative, eager to start the day with a quick playtime before he nurses.
whose smiles and sounds and expressions have been branded into my memory, eliciting a smile of my own every time.
can i say again how grateful i am?

on moments

i don’t want to forget these moments.
the moments where i sit with my little boy, his hands holding tightly to me, his mouth coaxing milk from my breasts.
i don’t want to forget these moments.
when the room is soft aglow with lamplight, the sound of our breaths accompanied by the sweet, comforting hum of the heater, the click-clack of clothes tossing to and fro in the dryer.
i don’t want to forget these moments.
when i am yours, you are mine,
and we are
at peace.

on rest

a little body lies atop me.
arms and legs splayed, rump poking just above the rest.
sweet, full lips hang open, the smallest vapor of a breath escaping, returning.
escape, return.
the sweet smell of milk clings to your lips, your neck, your hair, making my every breath a gentle reminder that you are here. after so many months of waiting, fearing, hoping–you are here.
you have been ours for two whole months. two exhausting, beautiful, terrifying months.
we had an emergency the other day.
i shook, lost control of my words, my strength, and had to be taken away to the hospital.
i was so scared. so scared. for seven excruciating hours, i was apart from you. weak and scared, i could not feel the weight of your body pressed into mine, could not hear your whimpers and breaths, could not watch your chest rise and fall.
i have never experienced such helplessness and pain, to know you are hungry but to be inable to feed you, to hear your cries from the phone, but be unable to comfort you.

my heart is an open wound in my chest, forever beating for you and i both.
and once again, i am painfully and gloriously reminded:
i am not my own.