That I could love a tiny little person so much it felt as though my heart would burst open.
That I could function on a very small amount of sleep.
That I could drink my body weight in coffee without being a jittery mess.
That I had magic boobies, and they solved many of life’s woes.
That I could actually do this thing they call motherhood.
That I could love another baby just as much as I loved my first.
That I enjoyed everything about a hundred times more than I did first time around.
That I could wipe small bottoms and breastfeed at the same time.
That my ear drums were made of strong stuff.
That I couldn’t entirely sacrifice my ‘me time’ and started blogging as free therapy.
That accidents do happen 😉
That I could feed a baby all day long, as well as parent two other children at the same time as running the house (all hail the Ergo sling!).
That I could write a book, mostly in the early hours of the morning.
That I could be moved to tears watching my son play with his sisters.
That three is the magic number for us, and there will not be a baby number four.
That life is never simple, and can get a whole lot more complicated very quickly.
That everything has to be pre-planned and surprises must be avoided like the plague.
That some of the wounds we are left with will be visible, and others like my daughter’s ‘high functioning disability’ itself will be invisible.
That worrying myself silly all day long will do no one any good whatsoever.
That there is no ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ any time soon.
That my life has never been easy, and will never be easy; but I absolutely refuse to let any one thing define me.
That I must accept the hand I’m dealt with good grace.
That I must remain positive about what the future holds.
That I love my husband and babies more than anything else.
That I will do whatever it takes to ensure that my family thrives.