by Monica Bustamante Wagner
My dear little baby. Please bite my chin with your toothless gums, pull my hair, and dribble on my shirt. Perch on my hip and squirm; I have muscles you can wear out. Pull my breasts at night; I want you close. Throw me your first kiss; I will never forget. My little baby, why do you have to grow up?
Monica Bustamante Wagner has a Bachelor’s in business and a Master’s in HHRR. She loves to write and is currently finishing a YA novel (while nursing her newborn and helping her older boys finish their homework).