It's time for me to be asleep, but my breasts are achingly full of milk and my eyes welling over with tears. My cognitive mind knows that this is OK and a necessary transition, but my heart just doesn't want to let go. On one hand, I feel that I press on myself that I must be the strong and amazing woman that everyone espouses me to be. And on the other, I just want to crumple to the ground and cry myself motionless, emptying the confusion and pain that I feel. It's really not always there. It most often is now buried by the wonderful parts of my life that I love. But at times, the waves of emotion wash this ache ashore and I have only to acknowledge that is there or I will get tripped up on it. I want to let it go, but there is this huge fear in me that letting go will mean that she is gone from me forever.
And here comes my cognitive mind telling me that it is 10 weeks. It is time for me to not feel the hurt even rarely as it is. It's time for me to toughen up and move on. But, who am I to know what it is time for? I've never been here. And not many people have. Tonight, I go to bed with breasts that long to nourish a sweet little baby who is so close in my memory that I can almost smell her and feel her on my cheek. Sweet, sweet dreams, my little love.
Anthony's 4th Birthday
1 year ago