On Motherhood

They told me I would be tired.

They were right!

They told me it would be hard.

They were right on that one, too.

They said it would be the best thing that's ever happened to me.

They should've said that with bold letters and exclamation points.

Upon announcing my pregnancy I quickly learned that no one loves to give unsolicited advice like moms -- especially moms with infants.

So I listened and I took notes and I prepared as best I could given my life circumstances.

Yet despite all the advice and preparation, there is much I never heard.

They never told me how one single cry could shred my heart.

How this little voice that has never spoken a word would be the most precious sound I've ever heard.

How this person who has never even called me "mom" would instantly be worth any and all sacrifice.

How suddenly everything else would feel insignificant.

They didn't share how the weight of this tiny body laying on my chest would make me feel contentment deeper than ever before in my life.

How feeling her chest rise and fall against my own would have me begging God to sustain her breath for a lifetime.

How I would thank Him every day for the honor of being her mother.

No one warned me about the anxiety. Is everyone living through this in isolation?

The unsolicited panic brought on by a setting sun.

The instantaneous way the world seemed far more dangerous than a few days before.

They failed to mention the Baby Blues. I just had my baby! Why am I sad?

My body aches deeply like when I experience tragedy. But no tragedy has occurred. Yet...

I no longer share my body with her. I miss her heartbeat. Her wiggles and kicks.

My head and my body cannot get on the same page. I'm sobbing.

Yet I know God has designed my body to experience this so that I would give everything to support my daughter while she's too small to support herself. I was once an infant, too.

I had no idea how much you could love someone.

And I never could've understood the love God has for me.

I've never been so grateful that God loves my daughter even more than I do. He designed her, after all. Knit her together in my womb. I truthfully was very uninvolved in that process. My body incubated hers while God prepared her for her first breath.

And those first breaths were so sweet:

I'm laying in the hospital room staring at the daughter I have borne. My hands reach for the belly they have rested on the last several months. But she's not there. She's across the room.

I remember the week I found out I was pregnant. I reached for my stomach the same way, wondering if there was a child within and what that child would look like. Who would she be? Now I'm looking her in the face. I sobbed again.

They simply fell short of communicating how sweet this would be.

My very own daughter. A lifelong dream.

I could stare at her for hours. I have. I will continue to do so.

My heart has never been so full.

I watch her facial expressions and crack up at the way her eyes widen, unblinking, when she experiences something new.

I laugh blissfully as Caleb makes her dance to whatever song he's singing.

They did mention that part -- how watching Caleb be a father would make me fall in love with him in new ways every day. How watching him adore her would remind me he's my partner in parenthood.

How watching him love her would reinforce the love I have for him, too.

I kiss her little cheeks and will time to move a bit slower.

Too many times I forego sleep so I can hold her a little longer.

Though she can't understand me yet, I tell her every ten minutes how much I love her.

How I would and will give anything for her.

How I will meet her needs and love her with my life.

And though she doesn't comprehend my words, she understands my actions.

So I will scoop her up and snuggle her close.

She is my world now. And I wouldn't have it any other way.