In My Arms
Debbie Granick
St. Louis MO USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 20 No. 4, July-August 2003, p. 137
In the middle
of the night, her cries start small. The sucking sounds increase. I
roll her toward me and my muscles clench as her mouth searches frantically
for milk. We fumble in the dark, my stress and her hunger briefly escalating.
As she firmly latches on, I arrange my pillows to accommodate what I
hope will be a peaceful, pain-free period of enjoyable nursing. We're
just eight weeks in. It's not always easy yet.
Her fists are clenched. Her body is tight. She sucks quickly, waiting
for the good stuff to come down. As her sucks lengthen and slow, I feel
my muscles relax. My eyelids get heavy again and my mind wanders. I
snuggle her in and pull the blanket around us both, a warm shelter against
the cold bedroom air. We nestle in. We breathe as one. I think about
the women doing this same dance with their newborns worldwide. I think
of them, their eyes glazed over like mine as they look at their clocks
in the night. I imagine our emotions to be the same, a sleepy joy bringing
an early dawn smile to our faces.
I ease open
my baby's little hand so she can hold mine. I play with her tight little
fingers. She is so warm in my arms. I try to savor this moment, wanting
to remember it forever. I've been through this twice before. It never
gets old. I only get more sure of how fleeting it is and how much these
times are to be treasured. She slows down. Her body weighs more heavily
against my arm as she drifts back into sleep. I look again at those
hands and see the telltale sign of a baby at peace. Her little fingers
are relaxed, her fists unclenched. She is loved. She knows it. And she
is safe in the cocoon of my arms.
Last updated Friday, September 29, 2006 by njb.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:30:23 UTC 2007.
