I actually enjoy being a mother.
It definitely has its down moments. I don’t think I am ever going to just love getting puked on, peed on or woken up in the middle of the night. But motherhood’s bright moments are ever-increasing for me, and I’m glad.
As Noah has gotten past those first awful 8 weeks and into a stage where he’s more engaged in what’s going on around him, I have found myself being sillier than I’ve ever been (I’m quickly perfecting my awkward white girl dance to the tune of the happy music his swing plays), making decisions I never expected to make (like staying up five extra minutes just to hold him and cuddle him when he’s woken me up at 3 in the morning) and generally just being the happiest and most content I can remember being.
It certainly didn’t seem, during those hellacious weeks after his birth, that I could ever possibly be this happy. But I really love that kid. I’m enjoying him while he’s this little and I can still love on him and kiss him whenever I want and also loving the little glimpses I see of a little boy in the future.
I’ve said it before, and I am sure I will say it again: I can’t imagine life without him now.