There weeks.
Ode to my daughter.
When clock means nothing.
But every single day matters so much.
From 7am to 5am—days and nights blur.
My timesheet
counts differently now.
One long river of feeding,
of rocking, of her fragile body
searching for the safety nest.
When her fingers—
impossibly small,
impossibly perfect—
curl around mine—
I am not tired anymore.
I am becoming something else.
Invincible and powerful like never before.
Illuminating with
unconditional LOVE.
She doesn’t know words yet,
but she perfectly knows my heartbeat,
my smell, my voice, my warmth.
And so I hold her—
not with strength—
I have none left—
but with something older.
Primal. Anchored. Pure.
Something that says:
I am here for you.
And I’ll always be.
Forever.
No matter what.
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