mother of three

They say when you have a child, it’s so hard to imagine what life was like before that child entered your life.

At this time last week, at precisely this moment, I was a mother of two. Big A and Little A were my kids. That was my mommy persona. I had two kids.

It’s surreal. Because he is my child. At one week old, he is my pooda-bear, my little man, a piece of my heart. Baby A. I am a mother of three beautiful wonderful children.

Writing this makes me cry. Because there is nothing in the world I love being more than being a mother of three.

It’s been hard – no doubt. The sleep deprivation has left my nerves shot and my patience short. My six year old and four year old, being 6 and 4, have annoying habits that over the last nine months I just hadn’t noticed so much. My house seems to collect dirt even when we are not home. My body feels like it was run over by a truck, and only heavy duty pain meds will do. My belly…well, let’s not talk about it. I invested in non-fitted Target shirts today to hide my embarrassment. The afterbirth pains are still there, apparently worse with each child. I still don’t know what we are doing for (permanent or very long term) birth control. Latching on for breastfeeding makes my toes curl with pain. My meds have been changed twice in the past week to make the doctors comfortable with me breastfeeding.

But still – I’m so happy. There was a point in the pregnancy when I thought it – the depression, the anxiety, the uncomfortableness – would never end. But it did. And I’m still here, standing contented on the other side.

As a mother of three.