Breastfeeding… a refuge at last

Ami is asleep on me. I write this with one thumb. The last time she fell asleep on me breastfeeding, leaving me trapped on the couch, unable to pee or eat for hours, with just a thumb to communicate with the outside world, she was an infant. My world then had been turned upside down, plunged into the sudden absence of all control and autonomy, no roadmap or glimmer of familiarity in sight.

Now, with her warm body falling into mine, lying together in sunset darkness, only the sound of her shallow breath to ripple the silence, there is delight at the forced reprieve, a sense of freedom where once it was a prison.

Just two months shy of her third birthday, I find myself asking: how many years can I get away with breastfeeding?

Because from this place, I never want to stop