Hands are literally tied as either feeding, changing or simply holding baby. He is feeding 2 hourly (if I’m lucky, 3 hourly) and seriously, at 2 hours – BAM cry! He’s my very own (screaming) alarm clock. I’ll be honest with you, when he turns into inconsolable lil one, I feel like how he’s feeling as well. *sigh* Sabirun, sabirun….
Have been reading ‘Great with Child: Letters to a young mother’ by Beth Ann Fennelly. Basically the author started writing letters regularly to her friend who was pregnant. Being a poet, the words are beautifully put together and being a mother herself, the contents are honest and true.
I came across one of the letters, that I find comforting…
“Baby comes and Baby is furious. Those books which say that babies dont have emotions until they are older? Burn them. Dance on the ashes. Baby can work herself up into such a dervish of screaming emotion that her whole body vibrates… Then Mother rocks Baby and finds a hum low in her chest that cleats its way up her rusty throat. And Baby is still angry, but less so. More seconds fill the spaces between the sobs. Mother hums louder, soon whole words are tumbling from her mother tongue, rough as a cat’s, and inconsolable baby is consoled, the fiddlehead ferns of Baby’s fingers uncurl, the shuddering breath smooths itself, the eyes are slate-blue slits and then smaller slits and then only slivers of white as Baby’s eyes roll back and Baby’s sleeping, mouth open with the sweet milk breath Mother would like to bottle and wear as eau de cologne when Baby is grown and gone, Baby is dreaming and Mother’s music is the lily pad on which Baby is the floating, and Mother is still humminh although she could stop now, but now it is for herself she hums, it is her swan song for her cygnet and her infant self, she is crooning the way she was crooned to, a song she knows by heart, a song she would have sworn she had forgotten.”
Ahh, the sweet milk breath – as much as his tears stresses me out and all the breastfeeding through the night tires me – the sweet milk breath reminds me that at this moment, at this age, I can never take it back. I will find that he will grow too soon, too fast for my liking.
Sleep tight my baby boy.