tuesday is a hard day

tired momma moya and new lucy 

tuesday is a hard day

i look at her and when i careen into despair and tears i feel she looks at me confused and protecting already.
i think of her in the mornings when i’ve had too little sleep and start to panic – about her hopes fears and dreams and how will we sustain them? i worry in advance for the heartache and injuries she will suffer in life; i worry that i will be and am old and may not be there for her.

her fussiness worries me; is it all the time? am i required to feed all the time? every hour, every two hours? can i keep up? can we have time for ourselves – leanne mentioned she is sore because she can’t do the morning stretches in bed she usually does.

i worry that this is the kind of thing women turn bipolar about and get locked up in insane asylums! i think or thought i was a strong woman – so many women give birth – surely i can survive this and bear this lovely child upwards in the world, can’t i?

she is nine days old and she is snoring in the bassinet – it’s 9:30a and it’s dark in the room while leanne and wanda slumber. she is crying in her sleep; i feel desperate at times. dark, demanded, i will not be able to fulfill, another morning.

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