Before I was a mother . . . .
I used to read fiction.
I used to host parties with cocktails and interesting food.
I used to have a fine collection of healthy house plants.
I used to attack the laundry without despair.
I used to have adult conversations around a water cooler.
I used to be the breadwinner.
I used to return from the beach sand-free.
I used to go out dancing.
I used to enjoy fine wine, without drowsiness.
I used to have a tummy that wouldn’t grow noticeably bigger by the
Now I am a mother . . . .
I know the sweetest, most intense sting – that of your baby’s head appearing.
I recognize the miracle of life.
I have breastfed and wondered at my body’s force.
I have reached new levels of calm from the embrace of a sleeping baby.
I am able to function well after a night of four hours sleep and yet appreciate a weekend afternoon nap so much more.
I am awoken by little faces nuzzling me in the morning and am showered with little kisses at any time of the day.
I have opened up to creativity.
I have learned to accept days that I can’t control and recognize the parts of them that I can.
I laugh at endless sweet moments and smile listening to the kiddie chatter that surrounds me.
I live in a home so full of love that surely a passersby could absorb some from the sidewalk.
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