Mother’s Immeasurable Love

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When I saw that faint pink line…

on my pregnancy test on February 13, 2016, I truly had no idea of just how much life was going to change.

My body grew, my anxiety worsened, my heart filled with love for the little jellybean growing within.

The day I first felt her flutter, I was standing in my living room and stopped dead in my tracks. I remember hugging the palms of my hands on my little bump, waiting. The flutter happened again, and I cried with joy.

The next months were filled with heartburn, high emotions, and more bathroom trips in 20 minutes than I ever thought possible.

My original plan for a natural birth was scrapped with the news that my little girl was going to be nearly 10 pounds in size. Within a day, the decision to have a c-section for both my daughters’ and my safety was made.

Within a week, the day arrived. I had never had any kind of surgery before aside from getting my wisdom teeth removed. I was utterly terrified of what was to come. Knowing I had to be awake during the procedure made things worse.

There was a quiet moment to myself and my jellybean before the birthing process was started. I sat alone on the hospital bed, having just changed into the gown I was given. A mirror was positioned on the wall opposite me, and I looked into the mirror as I lay a hand on my bump (more like a mountain at this point). I am a motherless daughter, having lost my mom in December of 2013. My whole pregnancy was filled with love but also fear; fear of the future and fear of how in the hell I was going to be a mom without my own mom to guide me. As I looked into the mirror that early, early morning, I breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling that my mom was there with me, somehow. Shortly after, I was wheeled into the OR.

The bright lights of the OR shocked me. It was a crashing reality of the seriousness of giving birth. I succeeded in getting my spinal tap without passing out, and I didn’t hyperventilate when my whole bottom half went numb and the tarp went up.

My husband by my side, I could feel the tugging of being cut open to meet my little girl. Now that, that was a scary feeling. The doctor exclaimed, “Jesus! Jesus!” at the size of my baby when he pulled her out.

One. Two. Three.

Her first cries erupted from her little body and I was overwhelmed with tears of relief and happiness. True happiness.

When I held my daughter for the first time, I realized I hadn’t been warned.

No one warned me of just how much love I was going to feel for this tiny human. I wasn’t warned about how she was going to take over my heart and soul.

She’s 9 months old now, and through every struggle I have only grown to love her more. Through the 37 hour stretch of being awake, through the colicky cries that sometimes went on for hours, through the early morning cuddles and feedings, my love has grown.

I love my daughter so much that it literally hurts sometimes.

I have lost so many things in my life, and so many bad events have happened. The loss of my baby brother, my grandmother, and my mom. A near-fatal car crash. High school rape and fury. Surely life wasn’t going to get better for me.

I thought that my life couldn’t possibly get better than marrying my husband in college after he saved me from an abusive relationship.

And then Evangeline came along. My little Evey. My world, my love.

No one warns you about the love of a child. You learn that the day they’re born.

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