Glass (Crank 2)

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.