The Chronological Bond of Infancy

I. Pre/Post Natal

Soft belly stretched

Marked with lightning

Hyper-pigmented bulb

Crooked linea alba

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Fluttering kicks turned into tiny feet

Kick counts and somersaults

Transitioned into the newborn curl

•

My tiny ten pounder

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II. Labor

It used to be us home waiting

Rocking back and forth

Gigi’s brown recliner creaked

You with that dreamy newborn daze

Rooted at my paled nipples with primal instincts

For the fix of milk, warmth, and comfort

•

Over the weeks the clarity came into your eyes

You waking up to life slowly, day by day

My little one with his big smile and greasy hair

•

Your birth was traumatic

Pulled from my sliced abdomen

Pain seared between morphine layers

•

Setting eyes on you for the first time

Evoked guilty feelings of rejection

You didn’t seem like mine

A foreign and pale b ody

Skin covered in bright red

Hair too caked with blood

Mistaken for dark tendrils

•

Maybe it was the lack of skin to skin

I didn’t get to see you until the next day

Tiny body hooked to wires and tubes

Chords all over, machines, IV and antibiotics

•

I was worried I would lose you

The machines beeped loudly

Every time you forgot to breathe

•

The next morning you were stable

A nurse placed you in my arms

And help me learn how to breastfeed

Navigating the tubes and stint on your arm

Your mouth opened at my breast

I cradled you propped up on a pillow

•

Your tiny lips rooted

then contact was made

and my heart swelled

you knew I was your mother

•

We would wait for your father to come home

I would sit for hours as you cluster fed in the evenings

Multiple night wakings, holding you in my arms as you nursed

I held you close, admiring your content face peacefully sleeping

Each time trying to capture it in my mind

Holding the memories close

So I won’t forget them

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III. 3/29/22

Today you are the littlest you’ll ever be

So, I’ll just hold you closer

And revel in the moment

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When you’re in my arms sleeping peacefully

I know you’re in the safest place you can be

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IV.

Now you’re seven months old

Your hair no longer greasy

Instead, a golden brown like your father’s

No more stubborn coatings of white on your tongue

Moderate tongue tie, painful latching

Rounds of Nystatin and finally Diflucan

No more branching out throbbing breast pains

And constant worrying if you’re getting enough

•

Most importantly

No more relatives bashing our bond

With their ignorant comments

And misinformation

•

Six months came and went as a goal marker

And you’re almost double your birth weight

You roll over and pull yourself up to stand

Your sweet personality is showing

Big gummy smiles and wide innocent eyes

In my arms you still find comfort and warmth

The night feedings still linger lucidly

Your peaceful sleeping face content

•

I live for these moments

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V. These moments

You softly snore cradled in my arms

Face content, contorted at my breast

cuddled against it serenely

or comfort suckling to sleep

•

We rock back and forth

The brown recliner creaks

You propped on your boppy

Head laid against the crook of my arm

My hand rested against your side

Your hands curled against my skin

Legs bent and feet rest

You sigh when I move

Long eyelashes flutter

Mouth purses

•

You look like your father

•

Sometimes I search for the newborn in you

Those familiar features even though you are you

Nostalgic memories of the early days

But your tiny hands still cling to me

While we wait for your father to come home

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*Despite all the struggle and pain,

we can still find comfort

within those moments to create a bond.