As the morning light streamed through the blinds, I pulled zipper and sealed this fascinating little machine called a "breast-pump" in its new home, stored away for time to come.
As I closed the closet door, a tiny cloud of dust burst forth, a little shower of glittering confetti as if applauding our journey.
I turned to look at your sleeping face, so serene as locks of your hair frame your little face and my heart swelled.
A year and a day, it's been, a year and a day since:
-I first forced my drug laden drowsy body fresh from the operating theatre and received you, my little warrior, into my arms.
-I first stroked and clutched your floppy neck,guiding your eager lips to my bosom.
-I first sang to you, while you suckled with survival in mind
-I gritted my teeth from the suction and bleeding motivating myself to do it right the second time around
- I fought back tears when I had to return to work as you barely hit the 6 week mark and found solace in a machine that reminded me of your comfort in seeking nourishment from me
-the endless consumption of concoctions in hopes that it will increase the yield of this precious liquid
- the endless exhaustion as you became a permanent extension of my body, clinging fervently to the warmth of my body and seeking comfort for every ailment and respite
A year and day.
Our journey has ended and yet it is also continuing. One chapter has closed and I look forward to a new beginning.
We say our goodbyes to our trusty little machine but we embrace the nightly cuddles until the very last drop.
Happy birthday, my little breastfed baby. Happy birthday.
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