First feeds with milky soft head nuzzling in.
And a small hand curled tight around my thumb.
Bellies touching, the joy of skin to skin.
Perfect first dance and two once more as one.
Early joy soon turns to pain and flinching.
What is natural does not mean it’s not hard.
Eyes squeeze shut to grazes, fullness, pinching.
Some days the pain like cuts from a glass shard.
Through tears, and grit, the hardness of it all.
The declarations of letting it go.
Is the beauty of holding one so small,
Belly full, content, in my arms to grow.
The promises of one more day to try.
Grimaces turn to smiles as weeks go by.
