#firstime

As I take more pictures of Ashley's new and old artwork, I shall post them quickly.

In the meantime, here is a animation gif she tried.

O how gauntly, how relaxed. How poised, you even chuckled.

Yes, I am sleepy. Yes my eyes hurt, and they burn. And Yes, yesterday was a better day.

Yes, I did break down and cry in the car after my appointment. Yes, I did a good job at holding it in.

Yes, I was overwhelmed and anxiety ridden.

Yes, I've refrained from taking medication out of concern of the quality of my breastmilk.

Yes, I managed to pull myself out from the back seat to help you, after I asked you to help me by changing his diaper.

Yes, I fed him while he screamed and I struggled to normalize my breathing. Air would not stay in my lungs. Panic did.

Yes, last night I let you sleep again. You have to go to work, I need to make sure, you're the healthiest of the two.

I struggle to pump consistently. I still get milk. Less than when I first started but no matter its something I can have to myself. I can achieve with out help. It's mine.

2 am. I can't go any longer without sleep. I fed him an hour ago. He's still screaming and rooting. I pump. 30 ml. I'm happy.

Yes, I awoke you. I needed to. I could not go any longer. I tried.

I asked you to feed him. He is hungery. He is screaming. I show you the bottle. Purple lid. Smaller different from the pump bottle.

You feed him. I sleep. You wake me up, at 530 am. He is screaming. You ask if the breast milk is in the bottle, I hesitate.

Surely he doesn't mean the pump bottle from a day ago. The one he has obviously seen sitting there. It's the only bottle that's been sitting there with the pump attachments still on. Surely he knows that milk is expired and bad. Surely. Undoubtedly. I did doubt but I was sleepy and not mentally checked in completely.

I answer. It's the one in the bottle, the 30 ml one. The one I showed you like hours ago. The one that's completely different from the pump bottle in size. Not connected to pump accessories.

I go back to sleep wearily. Surely, undoubtedly.

You wake me up at 630. You leave for work. Our baby stirs. He coos. He whimpers. He is hungery. I mix a bottle. Formula. I notice the pump bottle empty, the accessories dismantled.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

My anxiety returns. I am riddled with it. I am consumed completely. Again.

I can't breathe. Is this real?

Yes I call you. I'm scared, hesitant and nervous. My stomach hurts. My muscles hurt. My heart hurts. I don't want to know. I need to know. Did you?

Yes, you did. You fed our 2 month old the expired breast milk that sat out. In plain view for you the entire length of the day.

The one that sat there while you used the bathroom. While you brushed your teeth. When you went in to throw away a dirty diaper. Thay was always there, in its obviously loud contraption of pumping.

Yes, you admit you fed him that one. You say you asked me. You asked me. Your love, who has gotten consistently 4 or less hours of sleep. The one who showed you the bottle measured out with the 30 ml of breast milk.

Yes, you say shrug it off. You even chuckle as you're driving down the road to your job. And now you have blessed me with the anxiety I wish I never had since birth and the one I never miss. The one that cripples my days and nights, my being.

The one I have cried to you about. You gave me that today. I will not sleep, how can I? I have to make sure our son is ok. Every twitch, every painful whimper or coo made in discomfort will terrorize my peace of mind. Every scream and every cry will freeze and conjure my panic into every fiber of my being.

And I have to go through this alone. Singular again in my panicked induced delirium, without sleep. Without rest, with all the heaviness of the long days and excruciating longer nights.

Through out the entirety of my life, the yearning for love dominated my desire for life. I was foolish most times and ended badly. But finally, after soulful destruction relationships I found, mine love.

Fast forward, mind enchanting, soul reviving, heart elating, truthful happiness. And I gave into healthy happiness without reprieve. True, honest to God genuine happy, the likes I always knew was there yet always thought I was never worth granting.

And now. How can it be? I gave birth. I became a mom and the happiness is still there, yet not, complete anymore.

We sleep together. Him within arms reach. I hear his rugged shallow breaths. Completely relaxed and lost in dreams. And I struggle with dark thoughts of past experiences I endured before him.

I sit, in a dimly lit room. The TV in the background. My premature baby in my arms. His own breaths soft and cooing. And I'm completely lost in the love of my child.

While I sit here, child on chest, arms around him. I can't help but feel utterly alone. I gave him what he said he couldn't have with other women. What he never saw he could want with past loves.

I feel alone.

I sit here, child in arms, on my chest. While mine love sleeps the sleep of care free indignation. I am sleep deprived. Severely. I am consumed by this reality.

I am a woman, I am a mother. This is my duty right? This is what is expected of mothers. I have to not sleep, I have to endure this.

I feel alone. He is asleep. Mine love is asleep. And I feel alone. And I cry silently not to stir him awake. I dare not.

I shush my child before he can even stir. I panic when he starts to whimper. I must with everything in my power, despite my weakness, despite the weight crushing me, I have to make sure mine love does not wake.

This is my duty as a mother, and as his love. I have to force reject my body's craving for slumber. My body's scream for rest. I have to swallow against my will the urge to close my eyes, to steady my breaths, to relax my muscles no matter how sore, how tender, how stiff, how painful they may be.

This is my duty, as a mother, as his love. This is what automatically was placed upon me the minute the test read pregnant.

And he swore up and down, mine love. He swore, he chiseled upon my worry riddled mind, he declared, he assured me that nothing would change.

Change galore has stained my life. The separation that has formed between us, only obvious and felt by me. I am a mother, this is the reality that comes with the title.

He sleeps and I make sure, he rests no matter how much I struggle. No matter how blurry my vision becomes, no matter how sharp the headaches become. No matter how much my arms hurt, how much my fingers become numb. I walk dreadfully across our room, over and over, lulled to fight against sleep and exhaustion. Our child in my arms, my back in such ache that every step burns beyond stings.

I put his health before mine, his body needs the sleep. I love him so, so this must be so. I am his love, this must be so. I will not be happy if I falter to take care of mine love. I am a mother.