My nipple is being used to deplete my breast of milk by three month old Amierah who is currently fisting a piece of the skin of the same breast she us feeding from. Squeezing and releasing as she suckles. One arm is wrapped around her, holding her in place while the other is over seventeen month old Safaa who’s doing her damndest to resist sleep, while pinching the skin of my elbow. I have to hold my arm just so, else she’ll let out a too loud screech. which will wake the smaller one in my arms. I am too tired to start this process over.
If she sees Amierah on me, shell crawl further up on my body and start playing in my face. He pudgy constantly wet hands will touch my cheeks, go in my nose or ears, leaving trials of wetness on there like snails do on the house at night when we’re all locked inside trying to put our kids to sleep.
I blow air up in an attempt to move the hair that has come out of my bun. In an attempt to curb the way it brushes against my skin, startling my nerves awake as it shifts with the little gusts of wind coming in from the window. I’m grateful for them when the temperature is flammable at twenty-eight degrees today but it forces my strands of hair to move like seaweed in the ocean against my face and neck. I don’t have a free hand to move it out the way and have to contend with dropping my head back against the headboard so that it falls back. But it’s also quite dirty because I haven’t been able to shower in the last two days. These offspring have both been crabby and clingy and I haven’t been able to move in a circle without one of them being on me, next to me, behind me or just watching me.
I glance out of the room door, trying to see if Aashiq is moving around in the lounge. Maybe I can grab his attention. Maybe he can brush my hair and retie it. I’d love it if he could bring me a glass of water. These kids are draining me.
But the Tv is playing loudly in the other room. Even if I called out he wouldn’t hear me. I’ve been watching the show with him for the past hour but without the visuals. I can clearly follow the dialogue from here and the music gives me cluse for what’s happening on screen.
Safaa shifts and I hold deathly still. Maybe she’s fallen asleep. It’s the only time her hand will stop fiddling with my elbow. I take a breath of relief from the feeling. I don’t even know how this became her thing. All I know is that now she can’t fall asleep without it.
I chance a glance at Amierah, hoping the natural drug in my breast milk has knocked her out. Her head lolls back onto my arm. Her tongue is latched onto my nipple, pulling it with her as she falls deeper into sleep and no longer needs to drink. If Safaa is asleep, I can lift my hand to dislodge Amierah’s hold on me and slide her down onto the bed. As long as she can feel my body heat, she’ll stay asleep. Maybe I could curl onto my side and take a nap. Just as hope dares to unfurl inside of my chest, Safaa’s hand returns to my elbow.
I want to curl up and scream. I want Aashiq to come in here and take one of his kids off my body instead of relaxing by himself, with no one’s hands on him, in front of the tv.
I know what he’ll say if I call him. He can’t feed the one kid and the other doesn’t like his elbow. But you know what’s the worst fucking part? He’ll want to put his hands on me too when these ones are asleep and drooling onto our bed. I’ll get up and think, now I can relax and watch some tv, maybe just think a thought that isn’t about one of the kids. And then he’ll put his hand on my leg. Because I am wearing a short sundress in today’s heat. And he loved my legs.
This body of skin and muscles and nerves no longer feels like it is mine. Everyone’s hands are on me, drawing something they need. I have no excuse to not let them. I am the kid’s mother. I am the man’s wife. But when, tell me when I get to fucking be me.