Mukwonago WI USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 20 No. 4, July-August 2003, p. 140
Stop, please. I'm trying to freeze this moment in time
write it in my memory bank in indelible ink
for this could be the last time.
This could be the last time my baby nurses.
Well, he's hardly a baby but he's my last baby
and I want to recall the scent of his warm hair,
his sweetly closed eyes, relaxed body curved into mine.
I don't want to forget the cool breeze or quiet sunset,
the sound of my older children climbing into bed,
Dad set to read stories.
Some days, most days, he kisses me goodnight
and tells me he'll nurse
"in the morning, Mom."
and yet, when morning comes he is busy planning
to swing high,
build sandbox roads,
and the time passes back to evening.
Is this it? The last time I will nurse a babe?
Days pass and my heart leaps when he crawls in my lap
and finds that comfortable place.
His eyes twinkle and he starts to laugh,
looks up and touches my cheek.
"I forgot how to get the milk," he tells me, smiling up.
"Goodnight, Mom. I'll nurse in the morning."