How to Care for your Ally Killean Newborn at Night

How to Care for Your Newborn at Night

Ally Killean

First, lie quietly and still for as long as possible, just in case the baby is only whimpering in his sleep. Remain still yet— your husband might wake up and hush the baby or change his diaper. When the baby’s whimpers turn to cries and your husband is still in his indifferent slumber, carefully and slowly sit up in bed. No matter how slow you turn and rise, the fresh line of pink disfigured skin above your pubic bone will sear like a white-hot brand that identifies you as a new mother.

Turn on the dim lamp and take the two painful steps over to your newborn son who is now sufficiently crying in earnest inside his bassinet. Notice his arms flailing due to your inept attempt at swaddling two hours earlier. Consider trying to wrap him back up in the swaddle and switch on the vibration setting of the bassinet to gain a few more precious moments of sleep. Realize quickly that this is a pipe dream and pick up the baby.

As you lift him, feel the drenched crib sheet that surrounds your son’s upper body and detect the all too familiar and sour smell of regurgitated breast milk. Proceed to stripping the bassinet and then the baby—who is now sufficiently scandalized about being hungry, tired, wet and cold—of its soiled linen. Curse yourself for not putting extra crib sheets or sleepers in your bedroom.

Hold your baby close, walk across the hall to the nursery

and lay him on the changing table. Proceed to change his diaper and dress him in a fresh sleeper. Just as you zip it up and snap it closed, hear the explosive sound of the diaper becoming instantly re-soiled. Unsnap, unzip, re-diaper, zip, and snap again. By the way—the baby has been screaming his head off through all of this.

Pick him up again and, on your way to the rocking chair, grab the nipple shields whose existence you were blissfully ignorant of one week earlier. Move the nursing pillow off the rocker and sit down extra s l o w l y. Your incision smolders and you’re reminded that you are probably overdue for your pain pills.

Place the nursing pillow gingerly on your lap, over your incision, and hold your baby with his face toward the breast that feels like it might erupt and unhook your nursing tank top. Thank God that these things exist and remind yourself to get more at Target. Try to remember what else you might need there. Fail at this.

Grab a nipple shield and try to see if this is the right size. Be annoyed that not only do you have “flat” nipples that make it next to impossible for a baby to latch on to, but also that said nipples are apparently two slightly different sizes. Remind yourself that, even if this is a pain in the ass, it is at least better than your baby starving like he was beginning to do at the hospital. Remember the failure you felt when the nurse insisted that he needed formula. Cry. Remember Carol the Lactation Consultant and how she, with her maternal expertise, knew exactly what to do. Cry.

Wipe your tears, place the correct size nipple shield over your breast and brace yourself for the pain that is to come. Watch as your baby, searching for nourishment, opens his mouth wide and seals it on your engorged and leaking breast. Grimace briefly—thank God—the

stinging pain is only temporary and is replaced quickly with the deep, pulling sensation that means that the precious milk is transferring from mother to son. Audibly sigh, lean your head back and let the Oxytocin that is released work its magic. For a few moments at least, don’t focus on your exhausted psyche and mangled body. Focus instead on your healthy, beautiful baby.

Breathe. Marvel. Love.

To the Voice inside my Head Sydney Burlingham

your words made my brain shudder your mood made my tummy turn eventually

you made me feel small then live small then eat small then think small but it’s time to start growing

i want to crawl into a hole and sleep until my bones grow sunflowers my brain blooms into daisies

The Teddy Bear Jessica Purgett

The stuffed teddy bear sits atop my father’s dresser.

The hand-embroidered fur looks soft. I dare not touch it.

The eyes are unfinished, a map of crisscrossed white lines

where buttons might go. It was his mother’s—

my grandmother’s. She made it while in

a rehab facility. Something to keep

out the depressed thoughts, her inner

demons, I suppose. She never got the chance

to finish it.

No Charles Uthe

No Two letters One syllable So much power

“An adverb— used as a function word to express the negative of an alternate choice or possibility.”

“No, I can’t, I’ve got somewhere to be.” “No, that doesn’t work with my schedule, sorry.”

One word— Yet, a word so often disrespected.

“I know you said no, but…” “Oh, come on, just say yes!” “Don’t say no to this!”

An adverb that should hold immense power; a way out of an uncomfortable situation.

“No thank you.”

Saying no can be seen as an act of revolution. It breaks down barriers. It’s not as easy as saying “yes.”

It doesn’t give someone what they want.

A child screams no, as their mother forces food into their mouth. A woman screams no, as a man forces himself onto her.

“No, I don’t want to drink.” “No, I don’t want to go home with you.” “No, I don’t want to have sex with you.”

If “no” means no, then why is it so often used as an opportunity to change that “no” into a “yes?”

Little White Pills Quinton Gaul

At first it was just a doctor’s prescription At first it was just a little white pill a day At first it was just for the pain in my leg

Then it was a doctor’s created addiction Then it was two little white pills a day Then it was for whenever I felt the thirst

Now the doctor has cut me off, but I get them elsewhere Now I don’t even keep track of those little white pills Now I need them to get through the day

The little white pills will be the end of me