The Chronological Bond of Infancy
Bonding through breastfeeding
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I. Pre/Post Natal
Soft belly stretched
Marked with lightning
Hyper-pigmented bulb
Crooked linea alba
•
Fluttering kicks turned into tiny feet
Kick counts and somersaults
Transitioned into the newborn curl
•
My tiny ten pounder
–
II. Labor
It used to be us home waiting
Rocking back and forth
Gigi’s brown recliner creaked
You with that dreamy newborn daze
Rooted at my paled nipples with primal instincts
For the fix of milk, warmth, and comfort
•
Over the weeks the clarity came into your eyes
You waking up to life slowly, day by day
My little one with his big smile and greasy hair
•
Your birth was traumatic
Pulled from my sliced abdomen
Pain seared between morphine layers
•
Setting eyes on you for the first time
Evoked guilty feelings of rejection
You didn’t seem like mine
A foreign and pale b ody
Skin covered in bright red
Hair too caked with blood
Mistaken for dark tendrils
•
Maybe it was the lack of skin to skin
I didn’t get to see you until the next day
Tiny body hooked to wires and tubes
Chords all over, machines, IV and antibiotics
•
I was worried I would lose you
The machines beeped loudly
Every time you forgot to breathe
•
The next morning you were stable
A nurse placed you in my arms
And help me learn how to breastfeed
Navigating the tubes and stint on your arm
Your mouth opened at my breast
I cradled you propped up on a pillow
•
Your tiny lips rooted
then contact was made
and my heart swelled
you knew I was your mother
•
We would wait for your father to come home
I would sit for hours as you cluster fed in the evenings
Multiple night wakings, holding you in my arms as you nursed
I held you close, admiring your content face peacefully sleeping
Each time trying to capture it in my mind
Holding the memories close
So I won’t forget them
–
III. 3/29/22
Today you are the littlest you’ll ever be
So, I’ll just hold you closer
And revel in the moment
+
When you’re in my arms sleeping peacefully
I know you’re in the safest place you can be
–
IV.
Now you’re seven months old
Your hair no longer greasy
Instead, a golden brown like your father’s
No more stubborn coatings of white on your tongue
Moderate tongue tie, painful latching
Rounds of Nystatin and finally Diflucan
No more branching out throbbing breast pains
And constant worrying if you’re getting enough
•
Most importantly
No more relatives bashing our bond
With their ignorant comments
And misinformation
•
Six months came and went as a goal marker
And you’re almost double your birth weight
You roll over and pull yourself up to stand
Your sweet personality is showing
Big gummy smiles and wide innocent eyes
In my arms you still find comfort and warmth
The night feedings still linger lucidly
Your peaceful sleeping face content
•
I live for these moments
–
V. These moments
You softly snore cradled in my arms
Face content, contorted at my breast
cuddled against it serenely
or comfort suckling to sleep
•
We rock back and forth
The brown recliner creaks
You propped on your boppy
Head laid against the crook of my arm
My hand rested against your side
Your hands curled against my skin
Legs bent and feet rest
You sigh when I move
Long eyelashes flutter
Mouth purses
•
You look like your father
•
Sometimes I search for the newborn in you
Those familiar features even though you are you
Nostalgic memories of the early days
But your tiny hands still cling to me
While we wait for your father to come home
<>
*Despite all the struggle and pain,
we can still find comfort
within those moments to create a bond.
About the Creator
Esmoore Shurpit
I like writing bad stories.
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