In the darkness

In the darkness, I am awakened. Again. It is one five ten minutes. A few hours. I am needed. My body is needed.

In the darkness, I dream mysterious dreams. I dream of being taken from my babies. I am terrified by what I read into the dream, and by the possibility that they would be okay without me.

In the darkness, my body is not my own. My fingers are chew toys. My breasts, spigots. My clothing a canvas for the neverending landscape of drool, spitup, leaks.

In the darkness, I am consumed by doubt. I ask,
what did we get ourselves into?
how am I going to do this?
what have we done?

In the darkness, I am consumed by darkness.

In the darkness, I wait for a moment of light.

It comes, in a chubby hand kneading at my breast. Grabbing, tugging. It comes in a gummy grin, a gleeful look, a face lighting up at my entry to the room. It comes, in babbles and coos, words of love in a language I don’t fully understand.

In the darkness, I wait for the light.