November Seventeeth: Five months

Danny boy turned five months old today and I felt myself exhale deeply about twenty times. I told my mom over lunch that I could have skipped the first three months and been fine with it, because, let's face it. It's hard. And not just a little. With Morgan, I felt so much guilt over not loving every moment of new motherhood; for wanting my old life back. I was tired, cold, cut, and broken. I felt strange and so misplaced. But I remember that after a few months had passed, I fell in love with my new self as a mother, and head over heals for my squishy little bear cub. With Morg, at about the five month mark, I could have ate the little cuss! I couldn't get enough of him! We became best friends.

Having gone through it all again, I have realized it's a process. One that hurts and feels awkward and inside out at the beginning. But then something miraculous and star-like happens, and somehow, from all the difficulty, your soul has grown. And you feel it. What a blessing!

Five months is good, my friends. The chunky, smiley, dreamy type of good.