Five years ago this morning, I had just given birth. The tiniest of babies ripped me ferociously apart and shot out into my gladdening hands. I lifted her to my chest and she immediately pushed herself with such immensity down and to the right to locate my left nipple. Attaching herself perfectly, she began to extract milk from me with astonishing powerful rhythmic suction. I simply rested into blissful witnessing, amazed at how she knew already how to move her body to get for herself exactly what she needed to thrive.
At little over 5lbs, there was talk of having to take her away from our beautiful woodland to an intensive care unit in the city. I knew she was fine. I could feel her strength. I strapped her naked to my bare bosom, where she stayed in our own perfect intensive care system for several weeks, becoming gorgeously fat and pink.
I'm reminded today how tiny fragile things can be extremely strong. How the will somehow seems to concentrate its power when it manifests in small packages. As humans in this vast hugely incomprehensible increasingly wrathful world, we are tiny. We are tiny but the goodness of our will to survive is mighty.
We are tiny and we are mighty.
