I heave my giant belly off my lumpy mattress.It’s laid on the cold concrete floor, and it feels like I am attempting to reach the sky as I stand up. Careful not to wake the three sleeping bodies who remain, I eek my aching bones out of the cocoon of
I have your baby.I shouldn’t, but I do.Society praises me.While they vilify you.I have your baby, She’s here with me.Your arms are void, Mine filled with glee.I have your baby, It’s crazy but true.While I’m holding her, Who’s holding you?I have your baby,I rock her to sleep.She’s warm and she’s loved,While I know that
My phone beeped. It was the social worker. An image popped through of a forlorn looking little boy with disheveled hair and desperately sad eyes shaped just like saucers. “Can you help’ the social worker had texted immediately after.“I know you’re only taking newborns but I don’t have a bed anywhere
It started out like any other night. The universe gave no warning.The mayhem of bathing and feeding nine small children enveloped the icy evening. The chaos of PJs and bottles and bedtime kisses consumed the house.Even at its most insane, this house radiates a love that is hard to describe.