Author Archives: Gráinne Evans

My Support Group 

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My Support Group 

For BFNI. 
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. 

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The Dive

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The Dive

The Dive.

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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.

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Hold Me Mummy

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Hold Me Mummy

(a poem by your newborn)

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Hold me Mummy, hold me skin to skin

I need to feel you in the brightness and din

of this enormous new world I’m suddenly in.

We’ll fall in love on a wave of oxytocin,

so hold me Mummy, hold me skin to skin.

~

Hold me Mummy with my head on your chest

where I’ll feel you, smell you and calmly rest

in your arms. I’m safe. You’re my world, my nest.

I need only your love and milk from your breast,

so hold me Mummy with my head on your chest.

~

Hold me Mummy with your skin touching mine

and when I’m hungry I’ll give you a sign.

I’ll squirm or wriggle. Open eyes mean it’s time.

Constant feeding is normal, you’re doing just fine,

so hold me Mummy with your skin touching mine.

~

Hold me Mummy, place my ear on your heart.

Let its rhythm sync mine, still one though apart.

Connection through touch is the perfect start

to our journey together we’ll learn this art,

so hold me Mummy, place my ear on your heart.

~

Hold me Mummy and kiss my soft head.

I know you are tired and for my life you’ve bled.

I promise I’m worth every stitch and tear shed

and I know you love me, it doesn’t need said

when you hold me Mummy and kiss my soft head.

~~~

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I Make Milk

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I Make Milk.

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It grows you from newborn, fuzzy and creased,

Transforms wrinkles to rolls, each sweet milky feast,

Makes you rounder and stronger, smarter too,

More amazing, more perfect, more uniquely you.

And it gives me a confidence, a quiet trust,

In my body, my ability, that I am enough,

So if anyone questions why I do what I do,

I tell them straight, on the bus, at the zoo,

No matter the place, the reason or hour,

“I make milk – what’s your superpower?”

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I Carry You Always

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I Carry You Always.

A poem for European Babywearing Week 2017
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New life in my belly, I carried you inside.

Birthed into my arms and from first you cried,

I wrapped you softly in cloth tied around,

Placed gently where you’d still hear my heart’s sound.

~

While cushy fabric held us skin to skin,

I fell in love and I breathed you in.

Happiness; smelling your head on my chest.

I was your world as you nursed at my breast.

~

I carried you as you explored and learned,

At exploits end, to my arms you returned.

I carried you safe and close as you grew,

Learned to walk, to run and before I knew,

I’d carried you to a new phase, new zone.

Watched you stride into a life of your own.

~

What once woven threads held bound together,

Now bonds of love form an unseen tether,

Keeping us connected when we’re apart,

‘Cos I carry you always…  in my heart.

~

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Pumping.

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Pumping.

(A poem for the amazing mothers pumping milk for sick or premature babies)

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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.

 

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What Is Breastfeeding?

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What is breastfeeding?

( . )( . )

It’s babies and mummies, nursies and nummies

Holding and rocking and baby talking.

It’s supply and demand and tiny hands.

Eating, drinking and sitting thinking.

It’s a bond that’s strong, secure, life-long.

 It’s babe’s perfect meal…the real deal.

There to share,  it’s beyond compare.

It’s boobs that leak and nursing top chic.

Squishy embraces and milk-drunk faces.

Breath so sweet and playing with feet.

It’s stressing and guessing and hand expressing,

Tummy squeezing, pumping and freezing.

Delicious and free, it’s cold cups of tea.

It’s what babies desire, it doesn’t expire.

Never hot nor cold, beats anything sold.

It’s mustard poos and permanent up-dos.

Pyjamas, spit-ups, burps and hiccups.

Perfecting latches and tell-tale wet patches.

It’s gazing into eyes, lows and highs.

Peaceful vibes and switching sides

It’s cluster feeds and twiddle beads.

A learning curve and holding your nerve.

It’s comfort, cuddles and sleepy snuggles.

The oldest home cure, sweet and pure.

It’s feeding all hours and wishing for showers.

It’s hitting your stride and filling with pride.

Boobies, bubbies, it’s the warm and fuzzies.

Protection, perfection, two-way affection.

It’s your tribe, troop, your support group.

It’s the love that flows, sprays and grows.

It’s booboos, babaas, num nums and ning

Right now it’s our everything.gtesslll copy

To read about my 3rd baby pictured above and the beginning of our very special breastfeeding  journey please click HERE.