Whack – A – Mom

Let’s be real for a moment, shall we? Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. It…is…so…hard.

How did our Mothers do it? How did our Grandmothers, Great-Grandmothers? The women who had to hand wash clothes, tend to crops, deliver 15 kids, raise 15 kids, see after a husband and a house? How in the world did these women survive? It baffles me.

We, with our support groups, cell phones, social media outlets, Google, and information overload get so amazingly stressed to the max at being a Mom. My theory?

Our Mothers, Grandmothers, and Great-Grandmothers had support systems. They helped one another. They witnessed their Mothers breastfeed and tend to chores. They had one another to help share the load.

Us modern women? Oh, we need no assistance. Why we can do it all on our own, thank you. Um, I call bull…

When I was pregnant, oh what a wonderful experience I was embarking upon. The delivery would hurt, but it would be manageable. The breastfeeding relationship between my son and I would be hard, but we would overcome obstacles with ease.

Um, again, I call bull… It’s like a game of Whack-A-Mole; anxiety filled anticipation. Are we going to hit or are we going to miss?

As soon as I began having contractions, my life forever changed. As soon as I looked into the alien eyes of my son who wouldn’t transition from womb to earth very easily, life was a beautiful terror. No one spoke of the pain, not really. No one mentioned the most disgusting fluids known to man would exit my body at speeds that Niagara Falls couldn’t compare to.

The underwear?? You mean the snazzy depends? That they give to women from size 0-22, that stretches to your body. The unbelievable excruciating task of simply rolling over. And forget standing up to go potty. F-E-A-R!!!!

No one mentions the days without showers, the weeks without sleep, the loneliness, tears, pure fear. No one tells you that you will be afraid of losing your newborn 259+ times a day. You do not hear of the weeks of after care for your body. No one really tells you that Post Partum Depression is so very real and what to watch for.

Then add breastfeeding into the mix. Is my child getting enough? Am I producing the right amount? Is he/she latched correctly? Is it time to feed again!? Is the poop supposed to look like mustard with seeds? Are they latching correctly? What position is the best to hold my child to get the most milk? Is my child hungry again? Comfortable? Is this gas, colic, or allergies to foods I am ingesting that is making my child scream like he/she is being abused? Can I have a beer? A glass of wine? Should I use a nipple shield?  Are my nipples inverted? Do nipples invert? That mommy group says I need to look for a tongue tie or lip tie. Yep, that’s what is wrong. I do not care that 4 Pediatricians have told me my child doesn’t have one, these moms are the experts and I know we have a tie problem.

Whew! Enter ME!!! Not ashamed to ask the questions, not ashamed to share the truth. Moms, it is ever so hard. And we made it that way because we think we are supposed to do it all solo. 2-3 days in the hospital and BYE! Take care!


We need to be asking other moms for help. Seasoned moms need to be offering and new moms need to be accepting. We need to throw the perfect persona out the window. We need to stop being afraid our child is going to be snatched from our arms if we seek help for PPD.

So Mama, I am here. I will come to you in your raw glory. I will come hold your hand, I will talk to you on the phone, via text, whatever. I will answer your most embarrassing questions with NO judgment. I just will.

My passion is for you and your child. My passion is for you and your success. My passion is for your and your mental well-being. My passion is for you, Mama.

Join me here on Facebook. I am currently studying to become a Doula and a BF Counselor. I am NOT certified, but I can give you my personal mom experience and share quotes from my material. Let’s begin being a community of helpful women learning from one another once again so our children will know that powerful women united are more powerful than one powerful woman exhausted.



P.S. http://www.kindredbravely.com & http://www.breastfeedingworld.org are great places also for community.


The Lie

I am a prolife feminist and I have every right to declare that. Because it is not my body nor my choice. It is another body that does not have a choice.

I am a feminist, but not the kind you think of in today’s terms.
I can speak confidently on matters of being prolife or prochoice because I have personal experience with it. We all can be passionate and we can give our opinions. It is our right. However, at the end of the day, the people who have been through any ordeal are the ones that deserve to be heard over the crowd. On all sides of the issue.

I have had an abortion.

Yes, me. I have a story. I am going to give you a part of my story… for now. I am giving a part of it because I am not ready to divulge it in its entirety and THAT is my right.

My entire life I grew up knowing abortion was wrong. It was an “unforgivable sin”. I knew I would always choose life. Always.

Fast forward to being 18 and in College. Fast forward to a missed period and a positive pregnancy test. A car ride with my best friend to a clinic in a nearby city to confirm my pregnancy. An abusive boyfriend that I feared. A mother that I did not want to let down. A Church family that I did not want to disappoint. A Jesus that I had to represent outwardly. If people knew I was pregnant out of wedlock, then how would they perceive God? I believed in Him wholeheartedly. I had failed Him and a swollen belly would fail those who believed I was a good girl.

My heart, my conscience told me “Choose Life!”

The opinions of friends and my boyfriend told me “You will ruin your life.” “You will disappoint your family.” “You will not finish College.” “You have your whole life ahead of you.” “You may be put out on the street.” “You do not want to raise a child with an abusive boyfriend.”

An appointment was made. An excuse as to why I needed to go out of town for a weekend was given to my parents. The scene was set.

The night prior to my abortion, I sat at dinner with my then boyfriend.

“I can’t go through with this.” I told him. “It is not in me to have an abortion. I do not believe it is right.”

He kicked me…hard…underneath the table. He told me through gritted teeth’ “If you had not been such a whore and opened your legs to begin with, we would not be in this mess.”

I wanted to tell him “If you had not brainwashed me, lowered me to a level of insignificance. If you had not forced yourself on me, hit me, threatened to kill me…I would not be in this mess.” I kept silent.

I began to cry. I told him I was calling my best friend to come get me.

As was his usual routine, he apologized profusely. He cried and said we would have the baby. We would tell our parents. He would take me home, hold my hand, and help me tell my mother. It would be okay. It would be scary, but it would be okay.

As was my usual routine, I believed him. I stupidly believed him.

We exited the restaurant.

There are times in our life when we remember certain events, every single thing about a moment. We remember colors, sounds, and sights. Most of the time it is during an extremely wonderful or extremely traumatic time. For me, it was a moment of quiet. A moment of hope that I would be saved.

From the restaurant walking to the car. A couple passed us. I looked at the woman. She looked at me. I remember this couple well. We locked eyes. I was pleading for her to help me through silence and a stare. It seemed she knew something wasn’t right. She had a look of worry, but she continued to walk. My moment to be saved passed as quickly as our encounter on the street.

As soon as they were gone, he pulled me by my hair into an alley and put me against a brick wall with hands around my throat. He told me if I did not go through with the abortion, he would kill the baby and me.

I went through with the abortion. My life was forever changed. It has been 20 years and I still suffer from the events prior, during, and after my abortion; the 3 categories of my life. The relationship ended shortly afterwards. The abortion gave me the strength to leave. It was scary and dark, but I left.

There are so many things that many well-meaning women just do not know about the “choice” they give women to abort, so I would like to inform them.

We are essentially sold a lie. This lie is: It will all be over soon. Well, it has been 20 years and it still isn’t over. It haunts me to this day. I’ve moved on greatly, yes. God’s forgiveness, grace and mercy have healed a wound so raw, so deep. Friends and family have offered support and love when I’ve shared my story. However, for myself and the majority of post abortive women, regret and shame are lifelong friends; no matter how far we’ve come in the healing process.

We are told we are weak. Oh, maybe not in those exact terms. But we are told we can’t have a career, finish school, pursue our dreams and raise a child. We are told through more lies: You are not strong enough to be a mother.

How terribly and tragically wrong. How deceitful; how unloving, and uncaring. How anti-woman.

I am a prolife feminist. I want the best for all women. I want women informed. I want them given the facts. I want women to know they ARE strong enough to be a mother, career woman, student, single; anything they want to be simultaneously. They are even strong enough to consider adoption.

But the biggest lie of all that we are told is :it’s your body, your choice. How can it be our choice when 64% of women report feeling pressured to abort? They feel pressure from society, an unsupportive partner, family, friends, the Church, themselves.
67% felt rushed or uncertain and never counseled.
Clinics also fail to screen for coercion to ensure it is her choice and noone else is making the decision.
(Heartbeat International provided the statistics)

Doesn’t sound like much of a choice. Sounds like abuse and coercion. Sounds like a lie.

I have a story. A story much longer, much deeper, and much darker that leads to light and love. I am holding it for now. I am holding it for another time and place. But this portion is for you!

It is for the person who believes abortion is liberating. It is for the woman that is pregnant, scared, and unsure, I am here. It is for society; for the people shouting “my body, my choice!!”
Abortion isn’t a cure all. It isn’t an antibiotic. It isn’t a Band-Aid. It is an amputation. The removal may feel good temporarily, and relief may wash over you, but you will never be left the same. You will never function the same. Yes, you will learn how to adjust your life around the loss, but you will never fully be yourself…. ever again.

I am a feminist that wants to empower, educate, and embrace all women. I am a feminist and I believe in life.

XoXo, Rachel

For It All; Thankful


The twitch and flutter my sons feet and hands make when he falls fast asleep. His breath, his soft cheeks, his little laugh, his hugs; I am thankful.

My husbands large hands that are as long as my forearm. His beard, his dark features, how tall he is, when he says my name; I am thankful.

My bed and how it envelopes me when I am weary. Warm blankets, cool sheets, a dark room, sleep; I am thankful.

My house and what makes it a home. The sound of the washer, dryer, dishwasher, food cooking on the stove, amber lighting, stillness; I am thankful.

My Lord and what He has done for me. My husband, my son, my home, my health; I am thankful.

For cuddles and hugs; kisses and cries; for laughter and love…

For good times and bad; long days and short nights; for strength when I am weak…

For every hurt in the past, every lie; each betrayal…

For each moment of joy and answered prayers; I am thankful.

I am thankful for it all because it makes me who I am. It is the beauty I possess in the brokenness of the world.



Rebel with Reformation

Today marks the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation. On October 31, 1517, Martin Luther, a German Monk nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany. He was challenging the church and their teachings. His stand that salvation was through grace alone and not through “indulgences” caused an uproar. (Indulgences were payments said to reduce punishment for sins after death.) These payments went to the church and were used to pay for the building of St. Peters Basilica in Rome.

Luther believed that Christians are saved through faith and not their own efforts. Luther protesting the belief that you could purchase forgiveness from the church sent him to trial. This trial was called a Diet and was located in the church at Worms, Germany (pronounced Verms). Thus, the trial was called the Diet of Worms. He was found to be a heretic. He went into hiding and was considered an outlaw. There he spent 10 years translating the New Testament Bible into German so the common man could read God’s word for himself and learn of true salvation, not mans salvation. What a rebel!!

Since October 31st is considered a holiday; halloween. To me, an oxymoron since the word holiday comes from the linguistic heritage of “Holy Day; I’ve been searching for a Christian alternative for our family for a while and what better way than Reformation Day?

Here are a few ways we will be celebrating October 31st each year:

95 Theses

The morning of October 31st, we will nail (or tape) a copy of the 95 theses to our front door. We will take the time to read through a few of them and discuss how we need to base our faith on Scripture and not man.

5 Solas

We will recite the 5 Solas and use it as a time of worship. We will discuss the important meaning of each one and find scripture that correlates.

Diet of Worms

dirt cake
Image is not mine

I saw a suggestion on another blog to make a dirt cake. How fun!! This cake will symbolize the trial Luther went through in Worms, Germany.

Reformation Reminder

What better day than today to reform our minds and patterns than Reformation Day? As a pre-bedtime activity, we plan to discuss the year so far, the past week, even the current day and what we have noticed in ourselves that we would like to ask forgiveness for and how we plan to reform our minds and actions to be more Christ-like.

Other fun activities as he ages can include making a sachet of lavender to ward off the Bubonic Plague or writing in quill and ink. There are also books and movies about Martin Luther. As he gets older, maybe we will host a Reformation fun day or a night of Reformation with friends from Church or school with our own twists.

I know that Gabriel may feel like he is missing out on certain fun others are having as he grows up. I realize we will have to discuss with him why we choose to spend the day in a manner that most of the world does not. However, it is important to us, especially in times like these, that we spend our time as a family honoring God as much as we can. There are so many distractions that making a conscious effort to set aside a day of remembrance on a day that really means the opposite of Holy, is something we can do to center ourselves and get back on track.

As a child that enjoyed Halloween activities and trick-or-treating, I am (nor is my husband) not judging anyone who chooses to spend this day traditionally. We always did so in innocence while never really”celebrating” the day. Halloween can be done in fun. But, as my mother knows, I like to rebel sometimes. What better way to do so than from the world running right to Christ? None.








“What Should I do?” – Delving Into Mommy Groups Number One Relationship Question.

If a man were to be judged based solely on posts and comments women in Mommy Groups on Facebook share, the majority would be considered adulterous, abusive, selfish, and terrible at fatherhood.

Every day I read from a woman seeking the counsel of other women in these groups. Out of a place of desperation and heartbreak, these women are searching for an answer on how they should feel and if they should stay in terrible conditions. Many women are married, many are not; most have children with their significant other. They are hurting and confused. They want to know “What should I do?”

It breaks my heart to see the pain men are putting women through. It makes me fearful for our future sons and daughters. It seems there are men reverting to boys and women forgetting their worth in order to save a child from being fatherless. Women are being forced into an unhealthy independence that they were never meant to shoulder. Hearts are hardening, women are settling, and cycles are being created that will become more difficult to break as time progresses.

It seems all hope is lost. But, it is not!

There are actual MEN out there!!

(photo credit: Red Juliet Photography)

My husband happens to be one of them. I have a most supportive and loving spouse. He encourages, inspires, listens, and partners with me through life. From my dreams and goals, 50 pounds heavier or lighter, dressed up or down, in a good mood or irritable, he is always there and always supportive and loving. I thank God for him, daily.

After my fair share of boys, it is refreshing to have a man. I now recognize the necessary traits. There are qualities a supportive man possess that we as women need to be seeking out.

I read recently “Being polite these days is so rare that it’s often confused with flirting.” Very true and how very sad.

I believe women are falling for a momentary encounter with politeness rather than a long-lasting allegiance to morals and loyalty. 

The true test of a man is not in the words he lavishes upon you, but in his actions.

While respect, attractiveness, honesty, and more are all traits of a good man… I’ve listed 3 additional attributes I believe supportive men posses.

He must:


A man encourages his partner. He pays attention to her talents and motivates her to put her all into pursuing her passions. He does not get jealous of her desire for life outside of the relationship. Rather, he nudges her to find that place of her own because he knows it is healthy for her and for the relationship.

(photo credit: Red Juliet Photography)


A man listens to his significant others concerns and does not belittle her for her feelings. He will recognize that there are times he doesn’t need to provide a solution, only a shoulder. Even if he can’t understand where she is coming from, he knows that because it matters to her that his support is needed. At the same time, he will communicate with her in a loving manner. Just as there will be times she will let him know he may be out of line, he will also guide her back in love.

(photo credit: Red Juliet Photography)

Be A Safe Place

In the arms of a loving man; there is no safer place. With the right person, a woman will feel secure and able to fully be herself. She will feel desired and wanted. Yes, there will (and should) be a physical sense of safety; that is important. But, there needs to be a sense of safety in vulnerability as well. A woman gives her heart in a way that is more powerful and intense than a man. He needs to be deserving of it. He will understand this and make her feel like the only woman in the world. If he does not, he is not a safe place.

(photo credit: Red Juliet Photography)

While the above are my top 3, they may not be yours. Deep down we all know what love is. It is instinctive.

When it hurts, belittles, takes more than it gives.

When it disrespects, mocks, controls, and ignores.

When it feels one-sided, when it publicly embarrasses you, physically hurts you, or betrays you without repentance and change. When you have to ask others  “What should I do?” or you question how you should feel on a regular basis….

It is not love and he is not a true man; a good and decent man. Your gut is telling you what to do. My best advice is this: Go with what you know and not what you feel.







Silence Isn’t The Answer

Why is it so scary?

Why can’t I just open my mouth and say it? I’ve walked around the past few days wondering if people can see a difference in my physical appearance. I feel like some sort of phony.

“Hi!” smiles

“How are you?”

“I am great, thanks.”

I suppose I am sharing this as part of my therapy. Writing has been therapeutic for me since I received my first journal in the 7th grade. I believe that I am also sharing this for you, for you sweet lady, who knows where I am currently. If I could hug you this very moment, I would.

I recently had a miscarriage.

I was in the very early stages. I had been feeling very sick and unlike myself for 2 weeks. I could not imagine why. Pregnancy didn’t really enter my mind because it wasn’t supposed to happen. We were taking all the precautions. To be sure, I took 2 tests; negative. A few days later came the positive tests.

Admittedly, at first, my husband Brandon and I were in complete shock. This news was nothing like the stunned squeals and tears we experienced with our first pregnancy. After many years of wanting children and never having any, we thought children may be out of the question for us. So when our first pregnancy occured, it was an absolute thrill.

Our second, we were stunned silent for a good 30 minutes or more. Thoughts of “how did this happen?” “What are we going to do?” flooded our minds.

Statements such as “You are starting school in a few months. I am about to start training to become a Breastfeeding Counselor. We are barely making ends meet as it is!!” came barrelling out of our mouths.

Slowly, after phone calls to those closest to me( besides my Mother as she was out of town) I shared my shell shocked news of baby number two with two people. Those calls really changed my perspective and I began to get super excited. I then shared all the positives of being pregnant and having another child with Brandon and we began to laugh, looked at our 1 year old son with joy and pride…he was about to be an amazing big brother!! Life was awesome and we were ready for this journey.

Shock turned into pure bliss. I connected with my baby. Rubbing my stomach, talking to the sweet soul growing inside my belly. My son loves to lay his head on my stomach. Whenever he would, I would tell him to say hello to his little brother or sister. It was so sweet. The moments, so tender. We couldn’t wait to share the good news with the rest of the world.

A few days later, it happened.

Everything about this process is different and heartbreaking in a way that is not easy to explain. Besides the emotional aspects; pain, heartache, grief, sadness, confusion, guilt, doubt, anger…there are physical symptoms that when added to the emotional, become exhausting.

I feel as if I have been hit by a bus, or run a marathon, or getting over the flu…or all of the above.


Why are so many women silent about miscarriages?

Miscarriage happens so frequently, but is almost considered taboo. “According to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, one in five pregnancies ends in miscarriage; more than 80 percent of miscarriages occur in the first 3 months of pregnancy.” So why the silence? Why are we encouraged to wait 12 weeks to announce our pregnancy? Is a life more precious…valid even, at 12 weeks verses 5, 6, or 7 weeks?

I believe there is taboo because, even though we are told it is not our fault, we believe it is. As a parent, it is instinctive to want to protect our child/children. When we become pregnant, we become parents from the very beginning. As women, our motherly instinct kicks into high gear to protect the life inside of us the moment the pregnancy test reads positive. Even if we are scared for the changes that will occur bringing an unplanned baby into the world, a part of us becomes excited. If a pregnancy ends in miscarriage, it can look like we have done something wrong to end the life of our child. Therefore, we silently grieve because in our minds to admit to our loss may be admitting to a failure on our part.

But  I also have to wonder if it is because of how women are treated when they announce a miscarriage. There may be a split second of, “Oh how awful, I am so sorry.” , but that is it and then we are expected to just pick up where we left off pre-pregnancy and go out into the world with our superwoman capes on and continue to be brave.

I love this quote that I found in an article by The Washington Post: “During a successful pregnancy, silence forces us to make excuses for being tired, for missing work to go to doctors’ appointments, for running to the bathroom. During an unsuccessful pregnancy, it forces us to suffer alone. In both cases, it causes us to shy away from asking for help when we need it. In a world of Facebook and Snapchat, where oversharing our frivolous news is the norm, under-sharing our more sincere news cheats us out of the connections that make life meaningful, and it cheats others out of the chance to step up and assist.”

I really hope this changes because men, your women need your support. They need your sympathy, encouragement, arms to wrap up in, and shoulders to cry on. Friends, your girlfriends need your random check ins, even if she doesn’t respond. She needs flowers, a dinner invite, an “Are you really okay? I know this must sincerely hurt. I can’t imagine your pain.”conversation. She needs permission to grieve this loss, take time off, and rest, because that’s what this is…a loss.  A Mother has lost her child. Her 4, 5, 6, 7+ week old child that matters as much to her as a full term baby.

Physically, right now, I am doing okay. I am not 100%. I am tired, no; exhausted honestly. I am a little sore and worn down. Emotionally? I am confused and sad. I do have more moments that are happy than they are blue. But I am sensitive right now. Easily agitated and irritable. I know this too shall pass. However, I will always remember those positive pregnancy tests and the moment the shock wore off and I looked at my husband, squealed, shouted CONGRATULATIONS, leaned in for a kiss, and told my son

“You’re going to be a big brother!!”

To mamas past, present, and future. You are beautiful and your hurt is oh so valid. You deserve tears, grief, counsel, and love. You are a mom no matter what society tells you. You are strong and I am so proud of you. Give yourself grace and tell someone your pain. It is worth hearing and you are not stupid for grieving a baby that you only learned about 5 days ago verses 5 months ago. You are a Mother and you are worthy of peace and healing.






The Weighted Miracle of Love

Several months back I submitted the following to a very well-known and respected short-story journal/magazine. They were having a contest and I wanted to take a chance on me. I read that getting published in this magazine is harder than getting accepted to Harvard and that although they read all submissions, unless you are accepted, you do not hear from them. I submitted my entry, received an e-mail that it was received and would be read. Sure enough, I was advised that if I was not a winner I would NOT be contacted. Months later, I was contacted. I had not placed. But wait, I wasn’t supposed to be contacted unless I won?? I received the following:

Dear Rachel,

Although “The Weighted Miracle of Love” did not place in the March/April 2017 Very Short Fiction contest, it was a good read. Thank you.

We look forward to seeing more of your work!

I looked further into the receipt of the e-mail. Turns out, they do not contact you if you do not place, unless they really enjoyed your work and DO want to see more. I was bummed about not placing, but stoked to hear back. I hope you enjoy the following I wrote as a short-story about my sons birth.

XOXO, Rachel

The Weighted Miracle of Love

Like a crush anticipating that very first call; a lover awaiting the return of her traveled heart. She waited, she waited for 17 long and painful years.  Fists of rage towards the Heavens with despair covering the 4 AM soul cries like the darkness that enveloped the night. The only difference in the black of the night from what was entangled in her sobs, were the stars that shone down from the sky provided a light that was non-existent within her conscience.

Until that day when two thin lines between loss and gain appeared. Mourning sickness became morning sickness.

An anticipated 280 days turned into an unexpected 238. Suddenly, all the countless tears that once wet her face were replaced with a single stream of water down her thigh.

A quivering phone call to her partner filled with premonition would soon turn into a venture into the unknown.

She lay in a hospital bed with machines hooked to her weighty belly. Signs of life appearing on the monitor beside the bed proving what she knew all along but could not fully believe. There was life inside of her and this life would be making a debut swifter than the years that lay behind her. At first she truly believed she could handle this moment in time. She prepared herself mentally for the journey that presented itself, or so she thought.

Panting, moaning, and grunting. Rolling like a broken down car being heaved upon by strong, sweaty men in an attempt to gain some momentum in moving forward; back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. One, two, three. Three, three, three, progress coming to a halt. The clock pulsating much slower than the heartbeats inside her body. Strength turned to doubt as she attempted to avoid the drug that promised to bring relief and provide an opportunity to relish in the moment. Would this mean she was weak to accept the injected remedy?

“In my place” she thought. “In my place, I will allow these lines to be crossed in an act of selflessness in order to present the best part of myself to you. I will seek some sort of relief from this distracting pain if it means you can have all of me.”

Calculated minutes turned into 3 long hours of pushing and panting. Screams of pain and cries of defeat filled the small room, echoing the halls, intimidating the other expectant mothers. She felt like a fly trapped in the web of a spider. The other people in the room were all insects to her that were smart enough to avoid this web. Their conversations were akin to the noise an anxiety ridden person feels in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Forks, knives, simultaneous conversation, chewing, ice clinking, fans whirring, all of it coming together to create a cloud of insanity. When would this end?

The support of her husband, encouragement of midwives, nods of approval from mothers, other women who tread this road before all seemed like lies. With each transition came a heave from her body that forced everything she ever had and everything she ever didn’t out; bittersweet tastes in her mouth; more progress. The fire that burned deep within was so strong that it began spreading outward, spilling, if a fire can, outside her body. Was she close? Was this it? Was this the moment she waited for?

“I can’t!” she screamed. “Come out of me!” she pleaded. Sweet release, a collapse; two dark, strange, cloudy eyes gazed into her soul with recognition. An alien, “Welcome to Earth, little one.” the Midwife whispered.

This 6 pound gooey, soft, mass of skin and heat was placed on her stomach. It relieved itself onto her belly. Rooting, whimpering, pleading for a first taste it crawled upward toward her chest.. A chest that had longed to be filled with love for someone exactly like him. “You don’t know how ugly and lovely you are.” she said.