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Motherhood is…

Motherhood is…
Catching my husband’s cold and putting my faith in my breastmilk. That it will protect my baby from this mucous mess. It is washing my hands feverishly every five minutes to slay the wicked germs crawling all over my skin. It is realizing, with a little squeaky cough and a sniffle, my baby’s got it, too. My heart aches with the unfairness of it all. He must be thinking, ” So this is life, huh?”

Motherhood is…
Rocking my crying fifteen pound bundle as he kicks and wiggles in his discomfort. I rock, stand and bounce, although I haven’t even the energy to pick up a toothbrush. I lie down, still jiggling my sick munchkin. He falls asleep tucked in the crook of my elbow, his head on my arm. I stifle my coughs and my sneezes. He burrows deeper into the cave-like cradle of my arms. My limbs begin to fall asleep. I realize I have to pee. But it can all wait. The world is on hold. My discomfort disrobed, for the love of my babe.

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