I refuse to break at the hands of a man.
My situation makes me his.
He"ll never really have me.
I"ll never let him hurt me.
Until he claims more than my house, my body, and my life.
When Javier Almanza claims my heart, I"m no longer his cartel bitch.
No, I"m the queen.Books by Author:Chelsea Camaron Books
Babies were magnificent little creatures. Bundles of joy, that"s what everyone said. Except somewhere I had missed the joy part. I shouldn"t say I missed it. I had moments of joy.
They were just few and far between. I was exhausted. My body was a mess, my mind was in a constant state of panic, and my soul was absolutely depleted. The simplest of tasks felt impossible. Showering, I could skip another day, right" Going to the bathroom, I could hold it a little longer. Eating, well, that would make me have to go to the bathroom so skipping meals sounded good.
Everything was a challenge.
Where was the joy in that"
Misery was far easier to hold onto.
Only, the moment I let the negative grip me, she would look up with those gorgeous brown eyes and I found comfort. She was a piece of me, a piece of Javi. She was innocent and pure in all things wrong.
As she slept I could mostly find the peace in the crazy. But motherhood wasn"t exactly what I imagined it to be.
I was so very alone. There was no one to guide me, no one to tell me this would pass. No one to reassure me I was doing okay and Yesnia was healthy.
Estella wasn"t here to hold my hand. She wasn"t around to reassure me that I was feeding right or burping right. I had these blankets. They were special blankets. They came with pictures of a baby wrapped like a burrito. The instructions were on the package, but I never seemed to get the thing right. As soon as Yesnia got one hand free it was over. The whole blanket would soon be off and she would return to her screaming.
I was in over my head.
Most days it felt like I got more wrong than I did right. If I was to rate my mothering skills on a scale of one to ten, I might give myself a two. I tried to be patient with her and myself. Only I ended up more frustrated in the end. I definitely was far from having my shit together.
I looked at the pink blanket in my arms as my daughter lay sleeping soundly on my bed. I was folding laundry. It felt neverending. My emotions were everywhere. I couldn"t seem to sort what was up, down, left, or right. One month since her birth and my stomach still felt like a bowl of jiggling jelly. At this point, I was lucky if I managed two hours of sleep at a time. My mind was a fog of nothing. Every task felt like a chore that my body protested doing. I needed sleep. I needed to revive myself. Except I couldn"t. I had her to take care of. Yesnia didn"t have a schedule. She did what she wanted when she wanted and I was along for the ride.
She cried a lot.
Her lungs were strong. They had to be because honestly, she wailed like it was her job.
Maybe it was.
And breastfeeding. It was nothing like I envisioned.
My boobs would never be the same. Every time her tiny lips wrapped around the bud of my nipple and clamped down, I had to fight back the yelp threatening to escape. No matter how natural this was supposed to be, it still didn"t help me not to jump. It wasn"t right. It didn"t feel normal. Then, she would suck. My God, she would suck. Each pull drawing milk from my body into hers felt like she was draining me empty. When I couldn"t tolerate another moment, I would disengage her mouth and the screams would ensue. The midwife told me to nurse fifteen minutes per boob and burp in between. I was happy to have a time. Sometimes I would count the seconds as they passed, waiting to get her off me. I just needed a break. A chance to let my raw nipples rest. While I burped any air from her body, she would scream wanting more milk. I would give her the boob back, but a woman could take only so much. Except it didn"t matter to her, she was a machine of wails. Unbroken, unyielding, and unrelenting wails, at that.
Even when burping her she cried. It was chaos. She would cry, burp, and cry again like it wasn"t even a hiccup.
Then she would spit up.
It was agony.
No one told me this was what motherhood would be like. My mother and Estella, and even when Luciana had Anna and called home, they all made it seem so easy. They talked about us as babies as if it was this precious time to treasure. My mother was always so happy, so loving. Estella, too. Me" I was lost. I had these moments where I felt okay, but it was just enough to rejuvenate me into surviving another day. Mostly, I felt empty, drained, and completely void inside.