Saturday, December 7, 2013
The Symbiotic Breastfeeding Memo
The classes made it look like cake -
a picnic down on mothering street;
but we did not match the diagram,
with milk to mouth our greatest feat.
Tedious crept the early weeks,
latch refused and dropping weight.
We missed the symbiotic memo,
as we stumbled around the starting gate.
Awash in shields and pumping parts
we slowly worked the puzzle through,
and like Archimedes we hit Eureka,
and proved the unnaturally natural true.
Head craned back and latch achieved
we entered hazy feeding on demand;
ensconced with the boomerang pillow,
in our twenty-four-seven milk bar land.
We peeled the layers of cause and effect,
added more oatmeal and water on tap,
subtracted chocolate and orange juice,
settled the stomach and afternoon nap.
We moved through milk drunk delirium,
then cluster feed bombs, epic and raw;
we hit our stride and rhythmic supply,
teeth getting less, spurts getting more.
Car feeds in crowded parking lots
and sanity snacks on interstate flights;
we mastered the baby hydration caper,
and regained the sleep of the nights.
From seven feeds, to five, now three -
the morning, the lunch and the bed -
and I can see the end creeping toward
as you reach for bowl and cup instead.
Snuggle downs have left the building
with little arms stretching to explore;
the magic milk has grown us up,
and the peaceful feed, it is no more.
We wrestle like dudes on cable now,
with foot in stomach and hand in hair.
We oscillate from couch to walking,
then via the bed and onto the chair.
The grapple extends to public view -
oh look, a napkin, a car, a puppy -
top open, bra open, mouth open,
flapping, conjoined: the feeding guppy.
From breast to table in a microsecond,
infatuated, ingratiated with the spoon,
we're changing the calorie landscape,
and milk will be on the firm outer soon.
As we head to two, then one, and none,
to the cupboard of cups and change,
I will remember back on this journey of
you, me -
the growing of a baby, real and strange.
Linking with Grace for FYBF
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