Look, I'm a Mom

I've started writing this post nearly 100 times. I say to myself, quite often in fact, "I'm a mom now, I should blog about it." But getting all my thoughts and these new memories and special moments down on the paper of the internet sometimes seems invasive, and sometimes feels downright exausting. I know that sounds like an excuse because the beauty of blogging is pajamas and no one would know I hadn't even taken a shower. 

This post might also feel difficult because there are a lot of memories from the last four weeks that I would rather forget than memorialize forever to the people of the internet. 

I don't, for example, care to remember what I thought was a UTI actually turning into all but one of ten stitches "down there" falling out way too early. Let's just say when your child decides to enter this world as a freight train there is the damage of a nuclear blast going on in the nether regions. Trauma like that gets stitched up to look like my mother's attempts at making me domestic. I will never claim I know a lick about cross stitching...

I would also rather forget the first three weeks of nursing, and loosing what felt like three layers of skin off each nipple. (That's a combined six layers of epidermis for the record.) I really wish I had selective amnesia for the week my body turned into its own personal allergy and I had hives all over my body.

But for all the crazy recovery, every emotional eruption, the blood, the tears, the hurting and lack of sleep, for all the doctor visits and prescriptions and restrictions of the last four weeks, I finally know exactly where I belong. I know more about my purpose and my role and I love every single part of motherhood. 

Mom status has increased my love for JR in ways I didn't even know I could feel. Michael Blake has taught me to love in ways I never understood. My heart isn't mine anymore. It completely and purposefully belongs to my little family.