When Hunter makes
his daily plea for
a three A.M. breast
milk feast, I call
to Mom, “I’ll handle it.”
He’s now four months
old, and drinking
formula supplements
from a bottle—a conscious
decision on my part.
I had hoped to have
him weaned—and my
breasts completely
my own again—
within five months.
My new game plan
will expedite that
schedule, I realize,
and I have to admit,
that makes me sad.
I change his diaper,
marveling for about
the millionth time at
his perfect little body.
The body I created.
All clean and dry,
I carry him back
to my bed, cradle
him in one pillowed
arm, unbutton my top.