Читать книгу Unravelled: Life as a Mother - Maria Housden - Страница 16

I stumbled into Hannah’s room, barely able to open my eyes as I made my way in the dark. My full, aching breasts had begun leaking down the front of my nightgown at the sound of her first cry. The light of the moon filtered softly through the blinds as I lifted Hannah out of the crib, settled into the rocking chair and she began to nurse. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and drifted off into some version of sleep. I felt a part of myself carried into the dark behind my eyes and lowered into a deep pool, while the rest of my body, although exhausted, stayed awake, aware of the soft weight of Hannah’s diapered bottom in the palm of my hand.

I lost track of time and place as the two of us drifted there. Just as when she was inside my body only months before, it seemed as if there was no distinction between us. The only movement was my rocking and the back and forth sucking of Hannah’s lips, the only sensation the tingly drawing down of the milk from deep inside my breast.

Eventually, Hannah’s sucking began to slow and, not wanting her to fall asleep before finishing, I raised my head from the back of the chair and slipped a finger between her lips and my swollen nipple to break the suction. As I lifted her away from my breast, a few drops of milk spilled warm from her mouth onto my skin. I lightly kissed the top of her forehead, one, two, three times, and then lay her against my body again, guiding her mouth to my other nipple before she had a chance to protest. I smiled as her tiny fist closed around one of my fingers and she nuzzled closer and began to nurse.

As I gazed at her in the moonlight, at her long lashes lying against the translucent skin on her cheek, I felt myself drawn into a softer more primal awareness of the night. This silence, I knew, was the secret source of every mother’s strength, a place where the quietest work of the universe happens, while the rest of the world sleeps.