Thirteen years ago I was 2.5 hours away from delivering my first born. This is right about the time I started pushing--and yes, I pushed for 2.5 hours.
Yesterday in Sunday School, someone (a man) made the comment that "women can have more children because they forget how horrible giving birth is." All the women jumped all over him because NO!! We do not forget the pain. But more powerful than the pain is the tremendous, all powerful, breathtaking love we have for our babies.
Breathtaking. My son has always taken my breath away. For thirteen years and eight months I have loved him, memorized him, enjoyed him. Sometimes I have wanted to shake the stuffings out of him, but I have loved him every single second of every single day. I love watching him grow. He is such a fun person. Funny. Smart. Handsome. Kind-hearted. Even his firstborn selfishness is disappearing as he matures.
If I had known, at 13, what my future held, I would have been the happiest teenager in the world.