A Letter to My Daughter: On Fighting to Feed You

Sweet Eden,

It has been just over four months since you left your home in my belly. I am now far enough removed from your birth to miss it. We've been drowning in weight worries these last few months,  and lately I find myself yearning for that night--the euphoric exhaustion you brought me to before moving down to meet us, the feeling of your soggy body in my hands as you took your first breath,  the overwhelming instinct to bring you to my breast. A few hours later, in our bed at home, I fell asleep watching you nurse as the sun was rising, and I woke up a bit later still cradling you to my chest. I knew that was where you belonged.

Everything in me knows you're safest here, where you come for nourishment but also for love, security, and comfort. After you let out your first cry you began moving your beautiful, bloody head in search of your new place in the world, still of my body but on the outside now. I looked down at you and knew I'd move mountains if it meant continuing to provide that place, and although the beginning was a bit uglier than I hoped it would be, that is all I've been trying to do. I am so sorry it has been a little more work for us, but as I look down at you now, dozing drunkenly, your head against my heart, I know it was worth every second of the fight. 

I love you, teeny one.