I expected sleepless nights. I expected less "me" time. I expected it to be hard.
What I did not expect, was how great it would be, too.
Not always, mind you. In the public restroom on the Ocean City boardwalk, cleaning poo from Supergirl panties, it was less than awesome. Getting puked on with fruit punch Gatorade while wearing a white shirt was not a lot of fun. Arguing with a three-year-old over pretty much everything is pretty awful. Tears, a lot of tears, of frustration and doubt for all of us.
And then she smiles. Or says she wants to be a writer like me when she grows up. Or I ask her for a kiss and she runs over and plants a juicy love-filled pucker right on my lips. Then it's pretty great.
I did not know I could love another being this way. So completely, so freely. While my child is stubborn and strong-willed and hard-headed and determined, she is also genuine and honest and open and fun. She makes me laugh. Hard.
I have had several jobs in my life. Without a doubt, being a mom is the hardest, but it's also the most rewarding. By far.
I miss her when she is not with me. I am sad when she is sick. I am proud when she does something well.
I wonder what kind of person she will be. I wonder when she will pull away from us and start to want to do even more by herself. I wonder if I will always light up when talking about her.
I want to protect her from everything. I want to not make a single mistake. I want her to be as proud of me as I am of her. I know that is a tall order.
I think about who I was before her and it seems hard to believe that she was not always in my heart.
I am tired. I miss the "me" time. Yet, I would not change a thing. #time2momup