The fourth was supposed to be so easy I wouldn’t even notice her.
Except she demanded recognition at 15 weeks in utero- small. Too small. For good reason.
She was a sick baby and required monitoring the entire pregnancy.
I foolishly believed things would improve once she arrived earth-side, but they only got more complicated and she never wanted to leave my side: ever.
I had never had a newborn that would not sleep in a cot. She had to be touching. It was always this way.
Fast-forward two years- sick babe, exasperated mom, lost older siblings.
I lie face to her face- I touch her cheek and she, mine.
A need met.
Although I feel like I have nothing left to give, I find my reserves and
Here I am, Child.