I guzzle another coffee.
Skip another nap.
To get ahead.
To steal more of the day.
After her nocturnal callings leave me drowsy.
But I’m learning that in my pursuit to harness more time.
She is in sync with me.
My milk flows in tune with her.
I nourish her.
It connects us together, no matter the distance apart.
For now.
After a surf I feel this tingle in my breast, even before I reach the door.
It must be time for another feed.
Those sweet moments back in my arms.
Her fluttery heart begins to slow to mine.
Her breath too, softens with mine.
It assures her without words that she is safe.
She is home.
There’s no need to rush.
Mummy.
Let me drift off to sleep on your chest
My favourite place.
Everything else can wait.
In the silence of our moments.
Let that old self gently shed.
Mummy.
After your time out bringing me into the world.
The seasons don’t change overnight.
Things are different now.
I know it can feel lonely.
When it’s just you at night.
Finding ways to sooth me, in the newness of your role.
Sometimes it’s ok to cry Mummy.
In just one glance, she teaches me to move with more grace.
To surrender to all those parts that make up our new life.
Her wide smile tells me it’s ok to leave parts of the old behind.
Surrender.
Then she dances a delicate dance between wanting to be tightly held, and being on her own.
She toys between independence and complete dependance.
For now.
Her tiny little mind is soaking up all the moving parts of the world around her.
A world she has only known for three months.
She must slow down in order to catch up.
And in that.
I become her.
She is me.
Slow down.
For a moment time begins to scare me.
Those grey hairs on the dog’s face that suddenly become so apparent.
A face I would once spend hours affectionately studying.
Somehow feels so foreign to me.
In just a few months it feels like years that we spent apart.
Through the busyness of motherhood.
Slow down.
I become so entangled with her that the delicate details of my other world have sunk into the background.
Embrace this moment mummy.
They are just fragments of time.
Slices of chapters that flow from newborn to baby, toddler to child.
In a blink of an eye I’m sure.
Surfchickareta 