I didn’t know that my friends descriptions of motherhood were true.
They laughed as they spoke.
I sat shocked, hoping they were wrong.
I didn’t know my back side would get as big as my front side, while with child.
Or that my feet would increase a full half size.
I didn’t know the amount of food I would consume in one sitting.
Or the intense cravings calling for oranges and pickles and Mexican food.
I didn’t know the ferocity of my all consuming appetite.
Or that it would just come right back UP, as I went DOWN with head in the toilet or
in a ditch on the side of the road as I came to an emergency stop.
I didn’t know that this would go on for weeks on end.
I didn’t know that the smell of hamburger meat or the sight of raw chicken
would send me on a boycott against making dinner.
I didn’t know that the first stool after having a baby would be the scariest part afterwards
Or that the massive pads they handed out at the hospital would be the best thing in existence.
I didn’t know my breasts would swell to almost bursting before and even bigger after.
I didn’t know the stretch marks were there to stay…
Or all the extra weight wouldn’t go down without a fight…
Or that I’d never see again the girlish figure I’d spent a lifetime growing into.
I didn’t know my nipples would crack AND bleed, the pain that would come from feeding a baby, or
the tears that would consume me entirely.
I didn’t how much the physical art of nursing would be my least favorite part of all things motherly.
Or that in a split second I would decide, never again!..after being bitten so hard it left me
breathless and bruised.
I didn’t know the shame I would feel bottle feeding.
Or the relentless worry of the damage I was placing on this innocent, if my sacrifice weren’t enough for
his brains and bones.
I didn’t know the soft sounds of my infant child would be enough to wake me from a deep sleep,
night after night, baby after baby…
Or that I could semi-function on sporadic sleep for the length of my child bearing years.
I didn’t know the explosive poops a tiny being could surrender in the wee hours of the morning
Or the pee spouts from a boy that with enough gusto could decorate the ceiling.
I didn’t know that wearing a shirt with spit up on it would be part of my daily attire.
I didn’t know how tired I would be.
I didn’t know how tired I would forever be.
I didn’t know the intensity of the mother-child imprinting
Or the fierce, instantaneous fight I’d be willing to endure if I even sensed a germ danger.
I didn’t know my marriage would take a backseat to all the babies, for years…
Or the courage it would take to become a team, forgive and accept, grow, change, adapt,
understand, continuously and daily never giving up
because of the littles we had created together and the hope we had in their singular purpose.
I didn’t know the power of anxiety and depression,
Or the way it would hunt me in motherhood, only to intensify with each pregnancy
Or the amount of mom guilt readily available at any given misstep.
I didn’t know I could loath so much, and in the same breath, LOVE so big.