I'm Just a Milk Machine
When a baby reaches 4 weeks old, the mother comes to realize how completely exhausted she really is. That first week of adrenaline has worn off. The two weeks of amazing Grandma Help is gone. One glance in the mirror proves the point; dark circles, pale skin, and lack-luster hair pulled back into an ugly pony-tail (which she whacked 2 inches off one early morning because the tangles had meshed together into some hideous dred-lock.)
And to drive the point entirely, the mother only needs to look down at her wet nightgown - soaked with now-sour milk that somehow leaked out during the brief 2 hour sleep between feedings. It is then the mother tries to remember life before children and babies. When she vaguely remembers fitting into her nice khaki pants and could button the pretty shirt hanging in her closet.
Her husband rises cheerfully and tells her "Good Morning Sexy" and in her heart, she knows he is only being sarcastic because how could this hideous mess reflecting back at her be called "Sexy?" Obviously, he is as sleep-deprived as her.
A cry from the bassinet and the tingling in her breasts forces her to turn from the train-wreck and get back to the baby. She reaches down and picks him up, wondering how on earth he could be hungry again. She swears it was only an hour ago that he ate, and yet there he is, rooting with his mouth open.
The mother sighs and gives in to the demands. She loves this child but in her sleep deprived mind she starts to wonder that maybe having this third child was a mistake. Maybe she was too old to have another. What could she have been thinking ten months ago?
And then it happens......
A smile. Recognition and delight in the newborn's face. He is so happy to see the mother smile back in the morning. He tries to coo and a small sigh escapes his mouth. Exhaustion is forgotten, dark circles fade quickly, and that ugly pony-tail is sexy. She could be Angelina Jolie.
Smile again baby. Or coo. Cooing is good too. A mother could hear that all day long.
