Presence

In the midst of an unrelenting series of diapers and decisions, feedings and fussiness, it is easy to overthink motherhood. My mind is a steady hum and zing of new plans, fears, regrets, problems and strategies. Returning to the present with Archer is my most difficult challenge, but when I am fully aware and present with him, we experience such joy. Writing some of these moments down is a reminder to me that to love my son is to just be with him here and now...

Reading

Wobbly and drooling
He’s perched on my lap
Reaching toward the ebb of pages
I rock and sway and read
Turning slowly
With sturdy breath
As the story tumbles toward truth.
My husband rolls onto his side
Looks up at us from the floor
And in the twilight-musked nursery
Weeping swells in our chests
Like yeast in soft rising dough


Sleep Deprivation

Feeling tomorrow’s tears
Upon me now
Lying prostrate and rigid, I listen.
The baby inhales in a pulsing rhythm
Content enough
To sleep for another ten minutes.
I blink and shift in ropey sheets
When, like toast popping, a tiny fist
Jolts him awake
Grunting, stretching, reddening –
Crying for milk and pleasant dreams.


Feeding

Milk-white fingertips graze my chin
Sprouted from a cupped hand
Atop a dancing, floating arm
Hinged on a dimpled shoulder
Curving to a tickle-pink neck
Holding the head tucked into my arm’s pillow
Glossing the lips pursed and sucking
The bulged nipple fading into freckles and veins
Crawling softly over breasts that hide
My easy heart
As I do nothing
But watch you feed


Someday

You’ll strain the steaming fettuccine noodles
Giving the handles a firm shake
And wait for the last few drops of boiled water
To fall.
Or you’ll rinse the grapes you clipped
From your fruiting concord vine
Set them on a towel
In the middle of your old, scarred table
For some important guests.
But right now
The colander is a drum
A wooden spoon your drumstick
Your wet whistle tongue, babbling
As you beat your belly's best tune
And grin at the boom-bam-boom.