When I was young and brash and full of dreams for the future (and in the process of making them come true), had anyone told me I would embrace motherhood joyfully, I would have scoffed. Could someone have enumerated the various episodes of vomit, crying, screaming, temper tantrums, refusals, Legos on the floor, suspect dried items of unknown origin stuck to the wall, load upon load of laundry, fatigue, and the acquisition of enough marks on my body that it resembles a world map, I would have turned up my nose and stormed away.
What is astonishing to me is the incredible joy and humor and depth to be found in such seeming banality. How when you feel the soft slump of a newborn melt into your chest, it is to brush up against the sublime.
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