It had been forty-one weeks. Forty-one weeks of pure misery and guilt for feeling miserable. Weeks of nausea, no sleep, and not being able to walk. Then, there was the ninety hours of natural labor before giving in and begging someone to help me with the pain. I had, with great sadness, given up birthing naturally.
In the end, she came by C-section. There was grieving in that, too. All the planning and hard work had been for nothing. However, finally, she was here. My little Lillian Jean. We had survived this fight for life.
She was beautiful. Her tiny grasping fingers, pink crinkly face, grey seeking eyes, a head full of blonde hair, and soft wrinkly skin filled my senses. She was smart too. She latched to feed right away, suckling her first drink of nourishment. When she had her fill, she snuggled into my neck, getting as close as she could. Love poured through my whole being, like something being pulled from the depths of my soul.
I had never understood how much I could love someone until I met her. My sweet, precious Lillian Jean.
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Photo by bady abbas via unsplash, Altered by Jennifer Brewer via Pixlr.