Mute Buttons
An Ode to Breastfeeding
If you’re new to Raising Myles, Welcome!
I write letters to my newborn son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, below are some good places to start:
Recently, our fridge went out, and my wife had to dump all the milk she had pumped for Myles. It took me back to the ease that came with him being breastfed.
42 Weeks Old Dear Myles, We don’t watch much TV these days But still, your mother carries remotes We never worry about losing Two just in case one needs to recharge When things get loud Between channels Of cry and fuss I hand you over to her She presses the mute button and for a minute times stops So quiet We can hear our thoughts Thank God for the two remotes Batteries not included, not needed just milk Love, Daddy
If you enjoyed this poem, you can read more of them here.
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These letters between me and Myles are free to read.
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Let me know your thoughts:
What’s a show you are bingwatching right now?
How do you recharge and find moments of quiet in your daily life, especially when things get a bit too loud?
What's one mundane yet essential thing you always make sure to have on hand, just like “the milk” in the last line?
Rose🌹: A highlight, success, small win, or something positive that happened this week.
Thorn: A challenge you experienced or something you can use more support with.
Want more of Myles’ Letters?
Read about My Wife’s Love Affair - It’s exactly what you don’t think
Have you ever been Cooking in the Bathroom kind of tired?
Check out Carrying the Gift, Holding the Love
Read about Our first Father’s Day.
Celebrating Black Writers
I built a virtual and interactive library to celebrate writers who have inspired me in writing to Myles every week. This is me giving them their flowers. Feel free to click around!
Recently I added
, , , , , , , , . Special thanks to , , and for including the library in their newsletters. I appreciate you.
When we were raising our twins whenever they cried, my ex-wife or I would give them a bottle.
It took me to the end of the poem to figure out what the heck you’re talking about 😂 Momma carry that mute milk 🤐🥛