In the chaos, I hear you best.

A million needs, the never ending waterfall. Mouths to be fed and dreams to be caught, all hours of the night. In these young days, children roll like an endless stream. Unstitching us at the seams. We will never sew up quite the same. Their spirits rip into our worlds, unaware, and unbothered by what existed before. They wear unashamed, a deep, wild, demanding heart. A jungle-like need to grow up and be raised in our arms. The milk giving, the changing, the sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on our skin. It sheds every inch of who we were before. We strip to nothing to build them back up. Feed bones growing before our very eyes. Happily ever after? Yes, indeed. In ways we never knew until they arrived. Until we saw the small heave of their breath, fragile lungs rising the cage. Until we swallowed whole how much a new spirit, a birth, a life that didn't exist minutes before - can change every last bit of who we are.