The Symphony of Nursing

Disclaimer: This might not make much sense if you've never seen a baby breastfeeding ;)

Her arms shake slightly, her fingers crisply quivering in the morning haze. Her eyes crack open, drinking in the warm light of a sun barely peeking into the room over the richly leaved eucalyptus tree outside, her gaze dreamily seeking. She finds the fingers of her right hand, flexing and stretching wide, and rests her eyes on them for a while. It's fascinating. She's pretty sure she is causing that, but hasn't gotten too proficient at it so far. Still, much better than the last time she woke up.

She locks eyes with me, it's the most beautiful, relieved look, and her seriousness breaks into a shy smile, warmer than the sunlight grazing it, mostly lingering on the right corner of her mouth and cropping out the mere hint of a little chin dimple.

I smile back and lean in to pick her up.

She tenses up in a long feline stretch, from her tightened fists high above her head to her shoulders and neck, and down to her belly, legs curling up for the ride that deposits her into my arms.

She is visibly anxious. It's been a little over an hour since she last got to practice this, but it seems like forever when you are asleep. Will she remember how to do it? Will she get that fleeting opportunity for the perfect latch on the first try?

She arches her arms and brings them down on my chest, fingers spread wide in the embrace, fingertips slightly quivering in wonder.

She glances up at me as if to make sure this is the right person indeed, even though all her other senses are whispering so. This reassuring sight is what brings that wide smile that brightens up the world and warms me up to the core. 

This morning she's just full of love!

She gingerly places her lips into a most delicate latch.

The symphony has begun.

Her eye lids come slowly down and her eyelashes stir gently like the strings of violins playing a soft prelude. She is in no need of her sight right now, she plays this music by heart.

Her jaw plays the first strong note, setting a tone of playful practice, seemingly testing its strength, testing whether it belongs here and now. It's followed by another, it's twin. That seems to set the rhythm.
Her body soon joins in, settling slightly better in my arms, then unleashing its music gradually onto me. She stirs, and pushes gently, her tiny feet are fidgeting for better leverage.

One foot finds the firm pillow and pushes against it and Mara's whole body arches wide, her right arm high in the air above.

For an instant she seems frozen in time, like the director of an orchestra ready to give the cue.

She flourishes her invisible conductor's baton and confidently brings it down in one fluid, round motion.
The main piece suddenly floods the room, a relentless joining of all the senses and limbs, everything in her tiny body is now creating music.

The fingertips on her left hand are playfully tapping in pleasant, unexpected patterns, sometimes slow and gentle, other times in quick succession or hovering in the air for the break that will make the next note seem so much more meaningful.

Her toes are governed by a different, deeper melodic line, with pauses and rushes of their own, but in perfect complement to the fingers' music. She raises a foot slightly from the knee and gently brings it back down, slow enough to count in the ensemble, but not overtaking the senses. The fingers are the first violin today.

Her focused frown has already dissipated into serenity. She is lost in the music, she is floating on top of it and letting herself get carried away to new, not yet discovered places.

Her hand is what makes this playful and serious at times, guiding the perfectly attuned motions of the flanged lips, tongue and jaw. She sometimes lifts her arm and brings it far back behind her head with elbow bent and fist closed but relaxed, resting it all on some invisible plane. She holds it there as if to allow the rest of the orchestra to steal some of the glory, while her fingers are getting ready for the next piece which would soon begin.

The dance is so complex and so graceful and fluid that I am staring in amazement for what could be minutes.

She finally tires, and falls into a quick nap, just for a little while, to allow some rest to seep into the complex array of facial muscles that make this beautiful process happen.

Her breathing is deep and regular. It only takes less than a minute. She still has the latch, she's just testing her lips on it tenderly. Then, like a tiny flash of lightning announcing a summer storm, a single brief smile overtakes her entire face; cheeks, eyes and ears partaking in the display of contentment.
She takes another deep breath, then resumes her relentless quenching of hunger and thirst.

Later, while I am still locked in disbelief at the wonder in my arms, she had slowed it all down to a quiet whisper. She releases the latch and leans back, letting the morning sunlight bathe her tired, happy face. Her eyes are still closed, but in a second they'll open as wide as can be and take it all in: the curved limbs of the tree decorating the bedroom wall in its flurry of scattered leaves, the bed and blankets and closet mirrors that seem to have more and more awe inspiring detail with every awakening, the white wooden blinds that are opened slightly differently each day to let the light shine through.

It's morning, and it's time to learn!!