Some women know their whole life that they want to be a mother. These are the girls that played with baby dolls as children, babysat as teenagers and put pillows under their shirts pretending that they were pregnant. That was never me. I hated playing baby dolls. As a matter of fact my favorite game as a child was “library”. (Yes, I was a bookworm even then.) Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t “anti-kid” it just wasn’t something that I dreamed about.

I got married relatively late, at 30 years old. David and I waited a year before we tried to get pregnant and when we did start trying it didn’t happen. We didn’t get pregnant. Months went by and then years and after what seemed like an endless road of disappointments we miraculously got pregnant. God knew it would take “fighting” for a baby to get me truly prepared for what was ahead of me.

And what was ahead of me?

Not sleeping, chronic back pain, an additional 15lbs, my breasts now reaching my belt line, finding army men, little cars and tiny hair brushes in every area of my house. Sitting on my couch only to discover crushed goldfish crackers and empty sippy cups. Finding that Max has used the back door as a surface for coloring. That Lucy has taken every pair of MY shoes out of the closet to try on. Max is using the toilet as a place to wash his face and Lucy has decided that it is fun to rip all the toilet paper into teeny, tiny pieces.

And I LOVE IT!! That’s why you can’t explain motherhood to somebody who isn’t a mother. You can’t explain the inexplicable conflict between utter chaos and complete unconditional love. You can’t tell somebody that you would gladly welcome a tornado into your house as long as it took the shape of a 4 yr. old who tells you that you are her “best friend”. That is a mystery that only a mother understands.