I saw an ad, recently, blasting breastfeeding for the humpbacks it makes out of mothers. I laughed out loud at the wearying efforts of marketers shilling a product over a woman’s own production for no other reason than making a buck. Anyway, the soft slope of a mother’s neck is such a small curvature after the building and the breaking that’s already taken place. Such a small proof of the nurturing hours spent in languid labor, scooped around the restless babe that only rests for his mother, held at the heartbeat. None of this is for convenience; it is for love.
I've known a lot of mothers who've breastfed their babies and NEVER noticed any curvature of the spine. I'd like to see that company's research! / That next-to-last statement of your poem certainly touched my heart: "The restless babe that only rests for his mother,
held at the heartbeat." It is a splendorous experience of motherhood.
Love this one Mary.
I love that picture too, with the babies hand in the mouth! Mine have all done that, or hold my chin.