Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (23) - Flipbook - Page 20
I reach down into the basket and pick him up, a bundle of smells and incomprehensible
noises. He turns his head frantically to one side towards my body, his tiny mouth a
gaping cavern, as I lift up my t-shirt and unhook the nursing bra. I wince as the cotton
material pulls away from the scab on my nipple and a tiny drop of fresh blood forms. I
lift his body close to mine. My breast looms like a giant moon, larger than his head and
rock hard. His mouth looks so small. How will it go in there? His head shakes back and
forth, as he can’t get any purchase and I feel the heat from both of our bodies, and
smell the musty sweat of mine. Then I lift my breast up, stuff it into his open mouth and
brace myself. He clamps down and sucks furiously, his brow furrowed, eyes wide open
in alarm. I feel hot pinpricks in my breast and he splutters and chokes as a gush of
warm milk flows down his throat. I feel every muscle in my body clench and strain. But
as his eyes start to roll back in his head and his arms soften around my breast, I lean
back against the pillows and close my eyes. The pillows feel soft behind my back. His
skin feels soft against my skin, like puppy’s ears.
03:18am: Forty-two minutes. Forty-two more minutes and then I can lay down and
sleep. That’s three hours and eighteen minutes. Three hours and eighteen minutes until
the morning and it all begins again. Two more feeds and the possibility of two full hours
of sleep before seven when he ‘gets up’.
03:47am: His body has gone limp and I think I can risk taking him off and putting
him down. Thirteen minutes short of his usual full hour, but he’s so asleep, almost
falling off the nipple (against the rules!). I slide my little finger between his mouth and
my breast and the suction breaks, his head lolls back and then jerks. His arms fly open,
as if he is falling and his face wrinkles and contorts like a miserable old man. No noise
comes out of his open mouth as he holds his breath, a blue vein bulging in his forehead.
I cram my breast back in and he chews at it, making little grunting noises. The pain of
an incorrect latch rips through me and takes my breath away. The midwife said to ‘take
him off and put him back on if it doesn’t feel comfortable’ Not comfortable – ha!
04:00am: The clock shows 04:00am and he is not going back down. Less than an hour
of sleep available before we do this all over again. 04:06am: I sit up, teeth clenched
against the pain as he quietens and falls back to sleep, my nipple stretched and pulled
half out of his mouth.
04:15am. I lower him down into the creaking basket, my nipple still clamped between
his gums, swaddled tight in his blanket. His head of dark curls lays against the white
terry towelling sheet. He takes three more furious sucks and then spits my nipple out, a
look of distaste across his tiny face. I retreat slowly, so that he doesn’t notice I am
gone. I lay down on my back. Don’t look at the clock. Keep your eyes closed. Go to
sleep. For god’s sake go to sleep. I turn on my side, away from the ever changing
numbers. Minutes go by. How will I fill the gaping day ahead? Shopping. Shepherd’s pie
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