I cradled our child close. “Welcome to the world, little one.”
The world narrowed down to the warm, squirming weight on my chest.
“A boy,” the midwife whispered, smiling softly. “Congratulations.”
He was so small. So perfect. His skin flushed red, his fists balled tight. He let out another startled cry, then instinctively turned toward my chest.
He latched.
“Oh my goddess,” I hissed, every muscle in my body going rigid.
It felt like a damn vacuum had attached to my n****e. A vicious, relentless suction that shot pain straight through my spine. Sharp, aching, unbearable.
No one told me this part. No one said that breastfeeding would hurt almost as much as labor.
It felt like he was trying to chew off a piece of me.
But then I breathed him in.
That newborn scent—milk, warmth, somet
