Five Sentences During Nocturnal Delirium
I wrote this on 16 minutes of sleep at 3am at 8 weeks postpartum.
I think Camille Paglia referred to breastfeeding and mothering as “sensual.” Which I couldn’t wrap my head around until my brain was macerated by adrenaline, oxytocin, and fear. Then all I had was the pleasure and terror of my senses.
I love to rest my bottom lip against your small forehead and listen to your small puffing breaths. Your skull feels right at the surface, as though you are still being formed. Still shadowy and alien. Your perfect scented hair is a direct chemical hit to my brain, triggering something between romance and aching pity. You are starting to use your hands and one of them is stretched out on my chest, as though you are clinging and almost human. I keep thinking: you will never remember any of this
.
So evocative. Thank you for putting some words to the magic.