Eight

eight 

months ago I became a mama

eight

days ago, so did my dearest friend

eight

times now I have stopped myself from texting her the

words that

eight 

days in, it all feels so much bigger

than possible, bigger

than everything

that ever came before this thing called being a 

mama.

eight

months in, I wish I could tell her

how much better 

it is to be a 

mama -

so much better than it seems at

eight

days in.

there ought to be research on the 

impact 

of just falling asleep only to be woken by a tiny, ravenous monster who wants nothing more than 

eight

long minutes sucking at your chest before it spends

eight

more minutes in between sleep and suck

only to waken and resume its insatiable feasting

for what feels like 

eight

tortuous hours.

the constant questioning of how such a life is possible - it feels quite inevitable that this must be the 

definition of

failure

as the child will 

never

be

satisfied 

and

just

sleep.

there ought to be research 

on

the fading of these visceral memories

over time

such that a new 

mama 

can only recall the vague impression

of the tangible fear, hopeless frailty and faceless demons that haunt that echoing part of the brain, that section called

doubt.

eight 

months in I wish I could speed up time 

emotionally

but stop it cold physically 

so we could appreciate the newest moments, the softest skin, the hardest part

while basking in the glorious knowledge that it gets

easier

calmer

happier 

by eight months in.