Motherhood. I'm three months pregnant, and already, I am learning what a mother's love is. Oh, I know there is more to come. I haven't even begun to crest the surface of what my love will ultimately be when you are in my arms for the first time. It's a love too great for me to try to put into my own boundaries of understanding; I know that much.
But even now, my love for you is a love that knows no limits. I have loved you every second of the last 56 days and 20 hours. Before that, I loved the thought that one day, you would be more that a dream. I love you, and always will, without fail through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
But don't sing my praises just yet. In loving you, I have accomplished no great feat. In loving you, I have done the easiest, most natural act I have ever been compelled to perform. Loving you is easy.
It's easy to love through the good. Dreaming of you, a mother's love is born. Seeing the second pink line, a mother's love thrives. Listening to your beautiful heartbeat, a mother's love grows.
It's even easy to love through the bad. Feeling queasy every second of the day, a mother's love leads her to thank God for the sign that you are still there. Falling asleep at the drop of a hat, a mother's love forces her to get the rest you need to grow. Crying at the sight of another precious baby, a mother's love prepares her for the first time she will see you through a blur of tear filled eyes.
No one prepares us for the ugly. And before you read on, let me warn you. It is ugly. Do NOT read if you are the least bit...squeamish.
Poppyseed, it is even easy to love you through the ugly.
A mother's love lasts through feeling like a 90 year old woman who pees her pants during a strong sneeze. (It wasn't my proudest moment, but I loved you still...easily.)
A mother's love endures getting sick in an On the Border parking lot and leaving behind what resembles raw eggs spilled onto the pavement.
A mother's love forges through losing her lunch while driving down the road with NOTHING in the car to clean up the mess from her lap, the steering wheel, or her hands, as the soured smell tempts what may be left of the contents of her stomach to come forth.
A mother's love smiles at the thought of cracking the bones in the face of the person to dare question if she is eating enough or making the right decisions, or taking the best vitamins. (Don't worry. Violence is NOT the answer, and I would never actually punch a person...while pregnant.)
A mother's love charges through reading the facts of the ugly to come during and after birth (we won't even get in to those) in between dry heaves.
I love you. I haven't even met you yet, heard your voice, looked into your eyes, or held your hand, and without question, without hesitation, I would welcome the ugly a million times over just for the opportunity to be your momma.
There is the good. There is the bad. And yes, there is the unsightly, devastatingly hideous ugly. You are loved more and more with each ripple of joy, sorrow, pain, disgust, and embarrassment, that runs through me. Because all of it, even the parts that make me feel like Linda Blair from the Exorcist (you'll learn that reference when you're older...much older) reminds me of the life that grows inside of me. Your life. My Poppyseed. And you are enough beautiful to mask all the ugly that I will ever endure for your sake.
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