It was nearing Christmas of 1948 and I was physically and emotionally exhausted after giving birth a few weeks before. Looking after a newborn and a toddler was exhausting. Our daughter Kaiser Alexandra Müller was born a month early but she was healthy. Unfortunately, I was warned not to have any more children because of my previous high-risk pregnancies. Hans was disappointed, to say the least, but I was glad. I hated pregnancy and giving birth. My bouts of sadness only worsened after Kaiser's birth, I felt no maternal bond with my daughter and that made me question what kind of mother I was. I would listen to my cousins speak about how they enjoyed pregnancy and motherhood and I would hate myself. Why couldn't I be those women who bonded with their babies. Hans would often compare me to
