My husband. The father of my precious children. The man who spent hours massaging, comforting, loving, caring for me during labor. The love of my life who bent over backwards to do what was in the best interest of his daughter, every step of the way. I see him, I see her, together, all I can see is the love, the passion between the two. Such a dedicated man, a loving father. He would do anything to keep her happy and healthy. He would have done anything for his precious daughter. I couldn't express milk, Lucy couldn't latch on, I struggled, I fought with my body. I didn't want to go to formula, but in the moment my dear husband knew that she needed something to eat, I knew it but all I could do was try my hardest to express. My husband, his heart breaking for us, for his daughter. As she grasped to eat, as her sweet tender mouth sucked with so much strength, so vigorously, but she just couldn't latch. My husband jumped in the car, sped to the store and picked up some formula, to me dreaded stuff. He came home, mixed it up and took a syringe, he started to feed her, she ate so happily. She was so excited to be eating. As my heart sank, as I cursed my body for not giving her what she needed, or what I thought she needed. But in the end, she needed her father to feed her, to love her fully. And when I look back, back at it all, as much as I hate the fact that my body wouldn't produce enough, I see the bond and amazing love that two of the most amazing people in my life shared together and a bond that will last forever. Oh her happy contentment. So happy to be in the arms of her father. So happy.
Remembering this moment, which took place exactly 10 months ago on a beautiful, breezy April day as we held our precious love in our arms.
