When it feels like no one else gets it,
You’re the group who knows how it feels.
When it seems all around me are judging,
Here at least I don’t need to conceal.
You share in my joy at each milestone,
Send virtual hugs when it’s hard.
No matter the day or the hour,
Here I know I can let down my guard.
To you I can admit when I struggle,
And be proud without fear I’ll seem smug.
This group is a haven, a safe space,
Where support is a powerful drug.
Each triumph is celebrated together,
With others who truly understand.
So I’ll keep sharing my journey,
If you all keep holding my hand.
Hungry, little mouth.
Rooting, searching, frantic.
Diving in to me.
Familiar, sweet breath.
Latching, swallowing, rhythmic.
Drawing in my milk.
Soft, curled body.
Fitting, nuzzling, hypnotic.
Dreaming in my arms.
(A poem for the amazing mothers pumping milk for sick or premature babies)
A photo sits beside me, a machine plugged in.
The whirr of suction motors, tissues in the bin.
Milk drips into plastic, ounce after precious ounce.
Arms longing for my baby, to kiss and hold and bounce.
Wall clocks tick-tock and cold pumps hum low.
Through endless NICU days and nights painfully slow.
A voice within me whispers, ‘keep going, don’t you stop’.
I’m pumping for my baby and there’s love in every drop.