Today, I am honored to have one of my bestest bloggy friends and a fabulously snarkilicious lady guest post, Jenni from MommyNaniBooBoo.com. She is one of my favorite people in the world, as evident here. She’s fabulous and if you are not already following her, I highly recommend that you do so…immediately. She is sharing her TRUTH about Motherhood here today and I couldn’t be more excited.
For me, from the beginning, motherhood hurt. I was literally torn in two giving birth to my son. My pubic bone was split, and I had several weeks of physical therapy before I could walk again. It never entered my mind that something like that was even possible! I knew giving birth would be painful, but seriously? Ripping in half? Isn’t that a little unnecessary? Stack that on top of bloody nipples from trying to nurse every half hour, and it was not the most peaceful of beginnings.
My son was colicky, and I suffered from post partum depression. Each day was excruciatingly painful for the first several months. I remember banging my head against the wall… to keep from passing out… to take my mind off of the incessant crying… to keep from squeezing my son too tight while I held him.
But what they say is true- colic doesn’t last forever. And gradually I started to feel a little better. I started to realize how kick ass I must be to have endured so much. Breast feeding became a joy, and I would marvel at my slurping son in our private and tender moments. And soon I became ready for the stuff I always knew would happen- the cuteness, the squeaky giggles, the snuggles, the “mamamama”, and the first wobbly steps.
But damner damnersteins if nobody told me that would freakin hurt too!
And that it would
A different kind of hurt, but one I wasn’t prepared for.
A hurt that boldly erases all the other superficial hurt I experienced.
My son is almost three, and I am currently in the throws of the Beautiful Hurt. The exquisite, precious, ache to the depths of your soul hurt. It’s, “I can do it by myself”. It’s the climbing and getting hurt. It’s the playing pretend. It’s the getting ready for pre-school soon. It’s all too much. I see my son grow into more of his own person with each day. And my heart is breaking and expanding at the same time. I am proud and terrified at any given moment.
It’s magnificent. And it’s breaking my bloody heart.
Because I’m realizing I won’t be able to hold him close forever.
I was prepared for the poop, the nursing, the terrible twos, the potty training. I was even halfway prepared for the exhaustion.
I was not prepared for the love so deep it makes your soul ache.
For the joy so intense it carves a river through all of your insides.
I had no idea.
It’s other worldly.
But I’m tougher than I thought.
So bring on the pain that only a mother knows.
Rip that cord a little more each day… and I’ll wait patiently until he runs back for a brief hug and kiss.
My tear ducts are developing scar tissue.
And… perhaps I’m a bit of a masochist.
Because to me…
It hurts so good.