I’m a wash of pastels- which is funny because I’m not a girl drawn to them by any means. Yet I’m covered in them. A faded Hello Kitty comforter in lilac, baby pinks and yellow is wrapped around me, a baby blue, Boppy with yellow diamonds is poking out of it. There is a small pink bundle attached to my left breast. Again. She stops for a moment sighs and taps the area below my collarbone, in appreciation? And attaches and feeds again.
These days are constant breastfeeding it seems. This child is so different from her sister. Her sister didn’t like to be touched in my womb. Hands on my belly would make her glide to the other side of me. Readings were always impossible to get. And breastfeeding was hard and heartbreaking. It always felt like I was forcing her to feed against her will. As if her fight to separate from her mother had begun before her ability to even speak.
But it got better, the breastfeeding eventually became semi-natural. And then it became our bonding time, that time for just us two. She never liked being cuddled too long or fussed over for too long but sometimes she’d give a tight hug before being on her way. Those moments were especially precious to me.
And then I found out I was pregnant again. And my first reaction, as painful as it is to admit it now, was disappointment. This new child would be born before her sister would be two. How was I going to do that? How could I give her the attention that I had given her sister now that there would be two? How would I continue to give her sister enough of my time? I was still breastfeeding big sis when I found I was pregnant and then I had to stop because it was inducing contractions. Weaning didn’t come on her terms as we had planned, they had to come on ours and it was heartbreaking. And in those moments of denying one daughter because of another there was a little resentment.
I look down at my little pink bundle remembering those thoughts and smiling. Because this daughter lived for cuddles, because she was born grasping for me. Breastfeeding was instantaneous and constant, almost like she was never satisfied. I twirl a little black curl from her head with my finger and worry. Did she know? Could she sense that I viewed her as an intrusion at first? A tear falls down my cheek at the thought and then another. The tears fall unwiped because one hand is under her back and the other is still touching her hair and I don’t dare lose that contact. My little doll, my little love, because she is now my love she has it whether I held it back at first or not. I smile and remember the moment. We are on our couch (a slightly shabby hand me down sleeper) in our new home (albeit a small one it fits us), we couldn’t say those words the first time around. The TV is on but I can’t really tell what’s on it, it’s showing one of the endless cartoon lineups that will continue all morning. And big sis was playing with blocks a minute ago but I don’t see her now.
And then I spot her by my feet, she’s trying to pick up a bit of the comforter that covers my right leg but I don’t understand why yet. She finally succeeds getting that bit to stay up and then with a little frustrated grunt she wraps her entire body tightly around my leg. What else could she have grabbed she must have thought, with her momma’s arms so full of her new sister.
The tears start falling again.
This post was inspired by “The Love of Blogging” prompt.