When the Milk is Gone

I cling to moments
why am I afraid of losing them,
doesn’t it mean I’m living?

I don’t trust my mind
to hold the ones I need.
Like when I see a pregnant woman
run her hands over her belly,
and I’ve forgotten the feeling of your hiccups,
as I touch my empty womb.

Or when a mother nurses her baby sweetly,
and I’m stung because I can’t remember
when I last used that superpower.

Or before I wake you in the morning,
when I close my eyes to conjure
the last time you slept on my chest,
as I watched your rhythmic little lips.

When will I trust that
yesterday’s moments
were a gift to me then,
and live in the gift of today,
knowing that
I am fulfilled
in a place that is fully right for me
and where sadness lives too.

Note from Laura:
Every time I walk by a dirty handprint on the windows, it reminds me that my kids are growing up and won’t be mine forever, nor were they really ever mine. But, they leave a mark on me and everything they touch. It’s one I don’t want to clean off or forget, even if it isn’t perfect.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the transitions in motherhood. I’m moving from being fully focused on their every need every moment of the day, to the next phase of regaining some independence as they become more independent. But, that means my babies aren’t babies anymore. That I won’t breastfeed again or grow another baby. I thought I would welcome this, but it’s so hard.

Because opposite emotions will always exist together.