No one told me how much my heart would hurt when you hurt.
They told me I wouldn’t sleep.
They warned me about [blowouts] and tantrums and made sure I knew to always keep snacks on hand.
A few brave souls even cautioned me not to lose myself to motherhood. Still working on that one if I’m being totally honest.
They told me you would grow up too fast and that I shouldn’t blink if I could help it.
But no one told me my heart would be so completely wrapped up in another person’s wellbeing.
They didn’t mention I would physically ache when you struggle.
No one told me I’d beg God to take your pain away or that I’d plead with Him to place it on me instead.
They didn’t mention long nights with high fevers or falls from high places.
I wasn’t warned about the way your eyes would search for me when you were hurt or scared or defeated; as if my presence alone could heal even the deepest wounds.
No one told me about rejection, exclusion or heartbreak, and the way it would both crush and infuriate me to see your feelings trampled.
