Sunday, April 17, 2016

I am... A Mother

And I love being a mother.

It is the most bitter sweet existence I have ever experienced.

 photo 20160321_165014_zpsyg5isaog.jpgBitter because neither of my two children were planned, I was unprepared and overwhelmed.
Sweet because the love is unconditional. It's so pure.

I came to look at everything in life differently. Every single day I'm pushed to be responsible. At the end of the day I'm exhausted but it's so satisfying.

I never planned to be a mom. In fact, I was content to never marry or have children. It just wasn't a life goal.

I was only 18 when I discovered I was pregnant. We'd only been together a little over a year but we were crazy in love (think the Notebook).

Becoming a mother was the life changing event. Everyone gets at least one, where their whole world is rocked in that moment forever and you can't take it back.

Everything about everything changed and I quickly grew up.

I was sick the entire pregnancy, with no jobs, no experience and out of town friends. It wasn't a great place mentally.

And then I was handed this baby. This tiny warm writhing thing. I couldn't change a diaper or make a bottle. Understanding burping came after a lot of crying (from both of us) And riding in the car was the only way I could think to put her to sleep. And when all else failed, I was at a complete loss when she wouldn't stop crying.

My daughter was a difficult baby, the last thing my inexperienced mommy status needed. She didn't want to be breastfed, she didn't want to sleep, she didn't want to be in her crib, she never wanted to left with other people.

But the moment I took her back into my arms she'd calm down and hold on to me extra tight. She had these slanted eyes that sparkled like diamonds.

I was over whelmed by her love and her trust. I was her comfort zone, something I'd never been before. I didn't deserve her faith in me when really I was lost and never knew what I was doing. She was like the guinea pig that had to be tested on throughout my mishaps as I tried to get a handle on mothering.

She was never patient with my ineptitude. Even before she could talk she was opinionated. She never hesitated to tell me (or her father) whenever I messed up or forgot something. She understood the concept of sarcasm way too young. Just to deal with her, I was forced to step up to the plate. No more sleeping in and junk food. I wanted to be worthy of her faith. I wanted to protect her, teach her, guide her, comfort her, encourage her and listen to her.

I started to recognize the things she needed of me to be a better person. Patience, reassurance, understanding. telling her a personal story of mine makes her feel heard and more inspired than just it'll be ok. She likes details.

I want her to be proud of me.

Most of all I want her to know undoubtedly that she is loved and very much worthy of my love. 

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