it was cold enough to wear my purple housedress when i gave henry his morning bottle. i thought it would be comforting to pull on that fleecy plum duster and curl up on the couch with my baby.

it wasn’t.

a few of the snaps popped open when i sat down, triggering the feeling of sinking horror that was nearly perpetual for the first few months of little hal’s life. i had flashbacks to pulling myself out of bed in the small hours of the morning, taking the tiniest of steps and wincing, fetching my screaming, mewing newborn from his bed and easing myself onto the couch.

first i would try to get him to latch and suck. he would be near hysterics. throw his head back and howl. paw at my breasts. arch his back in frustration. i would cry too. tired, ugly, hurting, and utterly distressed. when we were both near the breaking point, i would sigh bitterly and feed him formula from a little tube taped to my finger, put him back to bed, and sit on the couch for another twenty minutes pumping.

i would will milk to gather at the tips of my nipples. i would think, surely this time something will come out. surely. but it never did. and i would wash the pump parts and go back to bed, waiting for the next hour of panic.

this morning made me realize i can’t keep the purple housedress and its convenient snaps. do you know anyone who needs one?