You were just fussy for an hour.
At last your breathing is measured and you rest against my chest. I breathe in your head and feel your baby hair against my nose.
The light from the tv flickers and I dare not move.
You've been suckling for the last hour, warm and focused until you fell into this even breathing sleep.
And I don't want to get up.
I never want to move.
I want to stay here with you as I breathe you in.
I don't know if it's normal and I don't care... but I already miss you. I already imagine you moving away someday. First in independence- emotionally, and then physically.
I love you fiercely.
A love I can't even understand.
I marvel that you came from me. I kiss your soft warm head.
Did you actually come from me?
I replay your birth- the rainbow outside the window- the blinding fiery pain that is more worth it than any other pain I've ever known.
They said you were here as I was feeling the loss of hope that pushing would ever bear any fruit and then there you are.
The greatest fruit imaginable. Soft, red, warm and alive.
And I never want this moment to end.