The day I took it all in, your every move. The softness and fragility of each moment I held you in my arms. The day I was no longer a woman expecting or a woman in labour. The day I was officially “mom”. Faye Milan's mom.
Father, mother, and daughter
I’m sitting here and writing this with one ear lent to my playlist and the other at the mercy of the slightest sound of your breath. My eyes constantly darting from this journal to your bassinet. My arms ready to drop any and everything if a chirp from you orders their embrace.
I tried and I tried
of trying and of age.