I have a love-hate relationship with nursing. Hate is a bit strong actually. It's more accurate to say that it's a nuisance at times. I don't love the special clippy bras or the (ugh) pump. I don't love how it makes me so much bigger up top and makes my clothes fit weird. Sometimes I just want to go somewhere and not think about the feeding schedule. Yes, there are the times that I want to just let it go but then there are the other times...
The times when I'm sitting in the half light of her room and she's tucked up against me. The light from the hallway spills in and, ever so softly, skims across her face. It's a face so impossibly beautiful that I think my heart might just break from loving her. I twirl little bits of her hair in between my fingers (blonde hair, so unlike my own) and think to myself that she must have been delivered by the fairies.
Every so often I see a flash of the adult lying dormant inside her baby's face. Holding her little relaxed hand I see her Father's fingernails. Her still, slack weight rests so perfectly against the curve of my belly that may never be taught again. In that dreamy space, dark and still with only the shushing of her white noise machine, I feel so grateful.
Of course, I'll stop nursing her eventually but, for now, it's as if the universe is saying...here you go, you've worked so hard. I'm giving you this gift. Be still and enjoy it. And I do.