Only the beginning.

She's been here, what, a month? A decade? Forever? It's hard to believe it's only been a week and two days. I can't remember a life without her. Already. Without her coos and gas disguised as smiles and demands.

And it's only the beginning. In just a week I feel like I've been confronted with a deluge of parenting battles, but I know better than to think this is the hard part, or even the tiniest, tiniest glimmer of the battles to come.

At her first doctor's appointment Monday she got a clean bill of health. I put her report on the fridge--the first in what I'm sure will be many excuses to brag about my perfect little girl. The doctor wrote "100% healthy!" and circled it three times. I could cry I'm so proud (or so hormonal).

The only problem is that Adelyn has lost more weight than "normal." She was born 7 pounds, 5.2 ounces. We left the hospital at 7 pounds, 0.2 ounces. And a week later she was only 6 pounds, 8 ounces. The doctor wanted me to supplement with formula. I said no. She asked me to come back this afternoon to have her weighed again--if things hadn't improved, it would become more of an issue.

So yesterday, I fed her constantly. Every time she opened her mouth, even showed the smallest hint of hunger, I offered her milk. Usually she took it, but not for long. I called one of Jason's cousins, a lactation consultant, who told me to sit back on the couch with my shirt off and Adelyn dressed down to a diaper, and to lie skin-to-skin all day long. My sister was in town visiting, but I still gave it a try.

Two hours later, I had to pee. I am, after all, human. I handed her off to my sister for just a second. A little while after that, I was hungry. And after dropping too many crumbs on Adelyn's poor little naked back I realized that this 24/7 skin-to-skin thing just wasn't for me.

It's only the beginning of the guilt. She's genuinely not getting enough to eat. And I am trying with all my might to give it to her. I feed her every single time she cries, and if she doesn't, every two hours religiously. I set alarms in the middle of the night. I let her eat until she falls asleep. Even more, I actually love breastfeeding. I wasn't sure if I would. The first time, though, the nurse brought her into my hospital room to practice, I fell in love with her all over again. I don't want to stop breastfeeding.

And still, she's losing weight. She never seems to want to eat for more than 10 minutes.

And on top of all that, I can't eat. I'm not hungry. I went from a ravenously hungry pregnant woman to forcing myself to eat a small meal. I don't know if it's Crohn's or lack of sleep or anxiety, but I honestly am having trouble sustaining myself. I heard about the after-birth contractions, and mine are either still going strong or I'm on the verge of a flare-up. They double me over in pain. I keep asking other mothers--and my doctor--if they remember this pain. They all say yes, but not for this long. Mine are getting worse.

So, tonight, we'll supplement with formula. Even writing that sentence makes me want to cry. She's lying in her swing right now, finally--finally!--asleep.

And I'm sure other mothers can understand when I say that looking at her face and feeling like I'm somehow letting her down is almost too much for a one-week postpartum woman to digest.

Look at her.