It was interesting to feel how my mouth moved instinctively the moment I pressed it against my mother's breast. It was an involuntary movement similar to that of my arms and legs, and I felt as if I were inside a small animal.

I felt a warm liquid going down my throat without tasting much of the flavor. However, I felt the liquid going down my trachea and stomach as if I were drinking water right after waking up in the morning.

I was able to concentrate on drinking breast milk because my limbs weren't moving thanks to my mother wrapping me in a blanket while carefully holding my neck as my esophagus filled amid maternal love.

I didn't remove my lips from my mother's breast until I could drink no more, and my lips stopped moving by reflex when I felt full.

My mother lifted me up and started patting me on the back. I thought I had something stuck in my stomach, but it was just a burp. I felt renewed and the sound of the woman laughing was music to my ears when I felt my eyelids closing.

On the second day my world changed completely.

My mother, showing the strength of a tiger, decided she was sick of resting and got up to perform daily tasks.

I had the chance to see her complete figure. Despite having given birth the day before, she was an attractive woman, about twenty years old.

She was definitely well-endowed in all the right places, with a fit body perfected through hard work. Her shoulder-blade length hair was a beautiful golden color, with red tones throughout.

The candlelight made it look like there were flames dancing inside.

The days passed slowly, a week after my birth, my senses were gradually developing. However, life as a newborn was far from exciting.

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I spent most of my time lying in my crib, unable to move my body properly. I felt incredibly bored and helpless.

Obtaining information about my new world was an arduous task. I couldn't even clearly distinguish the passage of days and nights. The reason was simple: I slept almost all the time. A baby's body was terribly inefficient.

I fought against constant sleep, but it was a lost battle. As soon as I opened my eyes, my eyelids would close again as if they weighed tons. And when I managed to stay awake for a few moments, hunger would immediately assault me.

There was no point in resisting. When the need became unbearable, I resorted to the only method I had at my disposal: crying at the top of my lungs.

The pride and honor of my past life had no place in my new reality. In desperate times, desperate measures were required. Crying was the only way to communicate my needs and ensure my survival.

Despite my efforts, my mother couldn't sleep at night from day one. There were no signs of my father...

Dad...

Apparently, in this era child-rearing was exclusively the mother's responsibility. My mother never looked away when she was alone in the house with me.

She carefully wrapped me up every time my limbs came out of the blankets, even if she was dozing. She tried to help me sleep after feeding me and helping me burp.

My mother's daily routine consisted of feeding me, making me burp, and helping me fall asleep over and over again. I pretended to fall asleep when my mother wanted me to in order to help her. She could only sleep for about an hour or so when I pretended to fall asleep.

I saw my mother cry for the first time after a week.

I heard her cry with exhaustion, although her silhouette was still blurry. Her sobs were the opposite of the cheerful laughter I had heard when I was born. My mother must have been at her limit, as she hadn't slept well even once during the week.

I was the first and only child, so it was the first time my mother was raising a child. She couldn't go to the bathroom alone and her maximum sleep was one hour at a time.

Then she broke down crying and I realized how difficult it had been for her to raise me.

I saw her stop crying to feed me and, at that moment, I felt I could go hungry for a day if it meant my mother could sleep deeply for today.

However, my mother became anxious and called everywhere when I suppressed hunger pains and didn't scream.

Twelve times a day every two hours.

My mother fed me and made me burp again as if she hadn't cried. My goal wasn't far away or in the future. It was here, right in front of me.