Breastfeeding

Ms. Thompson's hands guided the mother towards the bed, the softness of the mattress a gentle invitation to rest. The mother's eyes, still heavy with the weight of her emotions, drifted towards the pillow, her gaze lingering on the crisp whiteness of the fabric. As she lay down, her body seemed to surrender to the exhaustion that had been building up inside her, her limbs relaxing into the softness of the bed.

The mother's head sank into the pillow, her eyes closing as the softness enveloped her. Her breathing slowed, her chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm.

The mother's eyes remained closed, her breathing deep and even. Ms. Thompson, standing beside the bed, watched her for a moment, her expression filled with a mixture of concern and compassion. She then turned and walked towards the kitchen, her movements quick and efficient.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of breast milk, which she had expressed earlier that day. She heated it in the microwave, testing the temperature on her wrist before returning to the mother's side.

Ms. Thompson gently lifted the mother's head, supporting it with one hand as she placed the bottle to the mother's lips with the other.

The mother's lips instinctively parted, and she began to drink the warm milk, her throat muscles contracting in a slow, rhythmic motion as she swallowed. The sound of her drinking was almost soothing, a gentle gurgle that filled the silence of the room. Ms. Thompson's eyes watched her, her gaze filled with a deep concern as she monitored the mother's every movement. As her drank, her eyelids began to droop, her lashes fluttering downwards like delicate butterfly wings. The bottle was almost empty, and Ms. Thompson gently tilted it to ensure the mother got every last drop. The mother's drinking slowed, and she finally stopped, her lips releasing the nipple with a soft pop.

The mother's head lolled to the side, her cheek coming to rest against the pillow as she released a soft sigh. The sound was almost imperceptible, a gentle whisper that seemed to carry on the silence of the room. Ms. Thompson's eyes watched her, her gaze filled with a deep concern as she monitored the mother's every movement. She gently removed the bottle from the mother's lips, her fingers brushing against the soft skin as she did so. The mother's eyelids remained closed, her lashes fluttering slightly as she drifted deeper into sleep. Ms. Thompson's hands moved with a gentle slowness, her fingers wrapping around the bottle as she lifted it away from the mother's face.