Mine seemed to be broken. So like objects of use, my kraamverzorgster (postnatal nurse) tried to fix them. With her huge Polish hands, she massaged them like pairs of legs that just finished a marathon. Tubes were attached to them while a machine the size of a portable tv sucked the life out of them. They refused to work and let it known by becoming painful. Milk wouldn’t come out. So my baby drank cow’s milk. I was ready to give up on the very first week.
I'm Dheza, raised in a barrio in the Philippines, immigrated to the Dutch polder and travelling through running. This blog documents my life, to which I would like to look back to with tears and smiles when I am old and unable. Drop me a line email@example.com.
Follow me @thisgirlfromthebarrio
A working mom who run marathons, cooks, blogs and travels on weekends. Sharing #reallife stories.
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