World Breastfeeding Week

The heaviness of a world punctuated by hate lightens to the weight of this bundle of potential gently resting on my chest. My anxiety settles as milk drops with an ache into my breasts and his mouth and eyes latch on, drawing me body and soul into a mundane, mystical engagement.
He gazes at me in full trust that I will accept him, cherish him, nurture him. I gaze back, tears welling at the grace and gratitude that I am accepted, cherished, and nurtured by him without question or exception.
He grants me gifts by just being who he is, a little one that tethers me to the One. By meeting his needs, he meets mine. I find reassurance that his demands and cries are perfectly met by what I can give.
His mouth opens wide in delight at nothing but our mutual attention - I return a smile.
In our arrangement, I find countless teachings for when fear and grief threaten:
There is ample distraction and abundant despair, but nothing more important or pressing than making myself available to this embodiment of humankind's essence to whom I am immediately present.
There are a billion directions we may go, but nowhere to get to with one another but right here, now.
There is imperfection, but nothing to fix, only truth and stories to uncover and tell and let lead the way onward.
There is distinction, but not disconnection - acknowledging our interdependence brings peace within and without.
In the end, all strife derives from this root, that we are desperate to remember how dear we are to Life's family.
His hand rests on my heart in a pledge, a prayer, wordlessly spoken to the new world fed and fulfilled in this sacrament.