I do not want to go to jail
Fresh and clean and new and ruddy. Pink and screaming and tongues and fists. Tightly curled legs and arms, fingers clenched close to your mouth. Tiny hiney, little wee toes, flat nose, pursed lips flutter with every breath.
I want to steal you from your teenage parents while they are outside having a smoke. They are not nursing you and my breasts ache to hold you. I do hold you in the nursery while your heel warms for another billirubin check. You are calm and snuggling. You are innocent and sweet. Completely open to the world held out before you. The very beginning of you life. Your father is protective and holds you confidently. Your mom is tired and embarrassed by her sore bottom and my prodding hands.
I whisper goodbye to you and wish you well in your life. I do not steal you because I do not want to go to jail.