wishing and hoping

I was lying beside my son tonight listening to him suckle on a bottle of milk(I know! It’s a wonder his teeth don’t just fall right out of his head ) and I was shocked to discover myself completely overcome with longing to breastfeed him. The urge, no the NEED to nurse him… A bone chilling soul crushing chest pounding physical ache to nurse my child overtook me, stole my breath and sent tears coursing down my cheeks.

Sometimes the sensations of life are just so powerful I wonder how we survive it all.

We’re co-sleeping with Jack now, finally after two years he’s been by his choice a solo sleeper. Still he’s not sure what to make of this other person in his bed. He doesn’t so much snuggle into me as wedge himself horizontally, feet on the wall, head buried in my stomach. When he sleep cycles, he’ll pick his head up off the bed and hurl it down onto the mattress again in rhythm the same way I did my feet as a child, and how I rock side to side now as I fall asleep. When Jack was younger he’d get on all fours and rock front to back, so hard that we had to disassemble his crib because he was banging a wound into his forehead. For months he slept in a portable crib that was secured in place by bungee cords, and surrounded on three sides with padding to keep his head from hitting the wall through the net sides of the bed.

Now, it’s just his head, turned sideways for sleep. Up. Whack/bounce whack/bounce whack/bounce.
There may come a time when this bothers me so much that I abandon the co-sleeping project but for now I just place my palm on his head, ruffle his hair and murmur to him as he slips back under.

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