On being a mother.

I can still see Dave walking into the restaurant with a stack of chocolate bars wrapped in a blue bow in one hand, and white flowers in the other.  I sat wedged in between the wall and the window, a full 9 months pregnant.  The flowers ended up being for my mom, and the chocolates for me.  I rolled my eyes and said, "...oh, but I'm not a mom yet." 

In my eyes, I wasn't a mom because I had yet to live through 4 a.m. feedings and diaper blow-outs.  I had yet to know sleepless nights spent comforting my teething baby.  I was terrified about giving my baby a bath.  I was terrified about breastfeeding.  Terrified about the drive home.  Terrified I wouldn't know what I was doing.   

I hadn't learned just how heavy it is to lug around a car seat.  Didn't know what it feels like to walk out the door with 3 bags and my baby.  Had yet to understand how heart-wrenching it is when my baby has to "cry-it-out."  I hadn't learned just how interesting naps and feeding schedules could be.  I had yet to talk about these things as everyday miracles. 

No chubby fingers had reached for my face, or pulled on my pant legs wanting "up."  I hadn't listened for the slap of tiny hands and the thump of little knees as my baby crawled on past.  I didn't know how satisfying that first smile could be or how much personality is actually packed into a baby right from the beginning.  I hadn't seen his face or heard his squeal.  

A year later, I've lived life as a mother, and survived life as a new mother.

  

And now, knowing what I know, I guess I was an official mom starting way back when...because I loved him right from the start.  Loved him like it's all I was meant to do. And to me, that's what it means being a mother.

So thank you, Dave.  For the chocolates.