My eyes drag crescent-shaped shadows
the dark smudged proof that
I have an infant child.
We are So Sick of It.
In a way I never thought we would be--
rising to meet his cries
I got scared when
neither of us wanted to comfort him--
You curled fetal on the floor;
My body and breast felt resent as
I nursed him anyway.
I whined into the dark to your dark shadow on the floor,
"I don't want to act emotionally, I don't want to make decisions
out of exhaustion. It feels too cold."
We discussed again
letting him cry.
I fear the intangible. I fear his personality
hinges on our exceptional attentiveness thus far.
I fear ruining him. Scaring him. Scarring him.
I don't want to act without Sureness.
Do I want to let him wail it out? I don't know. (But not really.) But
What I do know is
I'm ready to stop nursing in the middle of the night
Like so sick of it I want to cry because I haven't had a good night sleep since October 4, 2010.
What I don't know is
How to get there.
Insert suggestions here.
We. Can't. Keep. On. Like. This.