mamamilkandme

These are the things I carry:

My wallet, at least one lipstick, keys that now have a key card and at least

two obsolete keys. I sometimes carry a small purse, sometimes one larger,

just recently I stopped carrying diapers and wipes. I occasionally carry a

child, I carry a bag for work with an organizer full of handouts and

breastfeeding information. I have a bag of finger cots for testing a baby’s

suck, I carry nipple shields. I often carry a scale for weighing babies before

and after nursing to prove to mom’s that they do have milk or to

understand why a baby is fussy all the time. In my head I carry milk

storage guidelines which I can rattle off but I keep a printed copy for the

parents I see. In my pockets I carry super heroes and fairy dust. I carry

secrets told to me by my children, my other family members, not Rob – he

doesn’t seem to like the concept of secrets. I carry secrets from the moms I

meet, I know who had abortions, I carry milk in my breasts, I carry the

memory of the babies who died in my belly, I carry the feeling of birthing

my three children, I carry the wisdom of my mother and I carry the grief of

her loss. I carry words to songs in my head, I carry the residue of

secondhand smoke in my childhood lungs, I carry the secrets of growing up

in an alcoholic family. I carry a light inside that my mother never let me

forget was bright. I carry love, fear, joy. I carry hair ties.