It's been no secret, this last pregnancy of mine was tough. It taxed my body in ways it had never been taxed before. It made it so I couldn't function as a person, let alone a mom. It had it's ups and downs. And at the end my body said "I give up, get this baby out." Then the birth was not as easy as I was hoping. It wasn't as bad as the first birthing experience (thank goodness), but it wasn't the experience I was expecting for a third child. Throughout all of that, especially after I had just had a painful encounter with the porcelain throne for the um-teenth time that day, I wasn't sure if it was worth it. I thought that every time some new medical thing popped up. I thought that as my two already born children watched tv all day for who knows how many days in a row. I thought that as I pushed that little body out of mine.
But once I held him in my arms for the first time, I started to think that maybe it was. And the next it was possible it was. And so it's gone as the days and weeks have passed, me thinking a little bit more that it was worth it.
Well, I think I've made it. All that crap I dealt with to get him here, while I don't ever want to do it again, was worth it.
It was worth it so I could cuddle his little chubby body. It was worth it so I can gaze into those big blue eyes. It was worth it so I can smell his sweet baby smell. It was worth it so I can see his happy, happy smiles when he looks at me. It was worth it so I can cry over just how beautiful he is.
It was worth it so I could be his mama.