In spite of the copper, ambiotic after taste, her blossoming essence is remarkably sweet; woven delicately into babyish dimples and curls. Underlaying the tart, disruptive essence of birth, her newborn flavor has a presence entirely it's own. Paternal signals are committed to the natural drive of motherhood; whiskered lips/tongue lavish our nurseling with unquestionable, unshrinkable affection. Creamy, moist hues give darker impressions, but as they dry, they reveal a canvas of pure alabastor. Brims work tirelessly to clear the sticky remains from her petite, shapely head. Somewhere in the drive of fascination, delightment and bewitchment -- concern for my personal well being is forgotten. No thought is given toward the sore, travel worn pillars which support me, nor the tired, windblown, soil crushed arms that hang lazily from either side of my dirty, foam speckled waist.
When Noah moves aside - relinquishing the demands of this primal task to my inexperience - a flick of the ear quickly splits my concentration unevenly with the large majority of my focus solely upon our newborn cherub. Fibers anticipate his touch, the warmth of his comfort becomes the salve which eases my hesitant nerves into surrender; her sire doesn't remove himself entirely from the soiled aftermath, our miracle. He ventures closer, correcting those ruffled, dirty pinions; granting reassurance through the steadiness of unspoken resolve. Meanwhile, I follow the gradual bend of her crest and stubble, tuffed bristles. Cleansing kisses venture a gradual trail southward, addressing the drying residue on those splotched, honeyed shoulders. The sole witness to our struggle, glimpses hotly down upon us with his unblinking eye. Spurting cramps accelerate, gravitating over these swollen loins; but their intensity is pale compared to the laboring agony summoned to bring forth new life. Weariness lessens the glow of amazement, but the statement that appears is dripping with admiration, "un nom?" A title worthy of his pedigree, "Miette?"
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@Noah
