It’s 6:00am in a cold January morning. Through the haze of exhaustion, I can hear Elowen, my little Wen Girl waking up for the day. She’s woken up every 1.5 hours since 8:00pm the night before. This is our life, tied at the hip, skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul. And she is my very favorite little vanilla bean ever.
I drag my tired, worn out body boasting proudly the scars of motherhood into the closet where Elowen is tucked …both close enough and far enough away … and there she is waiting. Her teardrop eyes, deep black depths crinkle into her usual morning smile. My tiredness vanishes. It’s been almost two who hours since she demanded me to nurse her and I almost forgot how much I missed her.
I bring her back to our bed, unzip her Woombie swaddle and put my hand on her belly as she stretches this way and that. Soon enough the tell-tale tongue curls out onto her upper lip and she begins sucking furiously. Its my very favorite. My firstborn brought with his precious self all the nursing fiascos and trauma possible and so this time around nursing is to me, the sweetest of all the things. Her body curls around my belly, her hands pat my chest and reach for my face as we soak each other in. This is breastfeeding.
Looking at us two one would never know that the pregnancy with her held deep grief for me. No one could possibly guess that her first 5 months had been some of the most stretching of my life as she screamed constantly, her belly tight and her skin broken out as a result of wretched allergies. But in moments like these, I’m so proud of us both. We’re such fighters she and I. And now in the freshness of this morning we rise again to greet another day, tied at the hip, skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul. And she is my very favorite little vanilla bean ever.
This life is the sweetest.
