Birth and the Black Heron
It’s 4 a.m. and I am sitting in the corner of the room in an armchair. My son is in my arms and he is getting closer to sleep. I will myself through each moment of rocking him as I fight heavy eyelids. The ache in my body is deep and I feel it in every crevice of this newly complicated body I inhabit, likely a result of the hot incision on my low abdomen a mere week prior.