365 Days.

Just over a year ago I became a parent and before my daughter was born, boy was I perfect. I had a strict schedule, time for myself, did cute things for my husband, was in good shape, looked good in a swim-suit, had the perfect job, the perfect life; the whole 9 yards my friend. Then... I became a mother!

Before she was born, I was surrounded by women making light-hearted jokes about new parenthood, about sleep deprivation, and pregnancy cravings. They exchanged recommendations for diapers, butt creams, and blankets, but what I couldn't see until I became a mother was underneath the small talk and "oohing" and "ahhing", sat the realness, the hardness of motherhood. Behind all their sleepless sunken eyes, each of them knew what that meant; they had felt that weight...a weight I knew nothing of.

I was there too, belly rounded with life, yesterday. I had the cell-phone app, the "Welcome Baby" books, the nursery that I had pinned on my Pinterest. I had the trendy soothers, the over packed hospital bag, the pretty dresses my girl would probably never wear because as cute as they look they are just way to much damn work. And I, of course, googled all about how you breath a baby out of your lady parts. I do not recommend doing the last one days before your babies due date... blood pressure through the roof; can I get an amen!

I remember off-roading-near-death experiences trying to shake her out (she had a really wrecklessly excited aunt driving), choking down every midwifery concoction ever wrote, exercises, essential oils, pressure messages, having my membranes stripped 3 times... all trying to get that little girl out of my uterus.

I wasn't in any hurry for her to arrive. I loved being pregnant, but with a hubby in his last year of university living 12 hours away... this baby girl needed to come when he was with me. I was in no way prepared to do it without my husband. It was important; he needed to be there.

It took what felt like ten years for her to arrive. More specifically, 41 weeks and 1 day. We tried for 7 days everything to make her come, and then when school permitted my husband, me and baby made a pack that she would stay all cozy right under my rib cage for another 5 days until daddy would be back on the weekend for our scheduled induction.

Oh, the time had finally come, and I was so nervous.

Then in a blink filled with a TON of painful epidural free labor she was here. She was tiny and marveling. She was so incredibly beautiful. She was perfect. She was an angel.

But wait.
I am not ready.
This is so hard.
I am so tired.
Why hadn't anyone prepared me for this?

I. Know. Nothing.

If I was sitting across from that very pregnant, very eager and naive version of myself, I would tell her this:

The love you will feel is nothing like you have felt before. It will be foreign and familiar all at once. It will fill you to the very top of your heart, nearly spilling over. The thing about this kind of love, though, is that it can feel heavy. Disproportional. You may feel like you will nearly break in half from the top-heaviness. You will not be able to tell the difference between exhaustion and depression, and that darkness will rob you from what should be the most tender months of your daughter's new life.

Your baby will choke and spit up and it will scare you as bad as if you were about to be hit by a semi. Your days when you leave for work will both begin and end with the saddest screams you will ever hear and they will break.your.heart! Your body will respond the way that it is programmed to - with panic. You will try to sleep less and accomplish more and you will come up short. You will always come up short.

You will feel like you are going mad, day after day, alone in that bathroom. Between the sound of the water running and your head's screams, you may feel like your nerve endings will be permanently frayed.

The trips to the doctors office you will be written off as "The Paranoid New Mom." For awhile, nursing will be excruciating, so hard you will want to quit 50 times over again, hard. Contrary to the laws of nature, your baby will not come out knowing how to siphon milk. Also, panic will flood your body more often than not. Yes, breastfeeding induced anxiety attacks are a thing, and it will happen to you. Hormones are jerks and you will cry, lots!

Did I mention how depleted and over ran you will feel? What about exhaustion? You will wonder how anyone else does it? Why your baby has a failure as a mom? These questions will cross your mind.

Eating, and sleeping, and showering are not a part of this season, not often anyway, but when they do happen that time will be spent crying. This season, in the thick of it, will feel never ending. While others' newborns are napping sweetly in their stylish organic leggings, or taking selfie's with their momma to which the mother's hair and make up looks like it were done by a professional via Instagram, yours is half naked, getting into everything making disaster not even define your home. There are over 2 billion mothers in the world, yet you will feel deeply alone. Compared to everyone else, you are failing. No matter how many hands you have on deck its not enough, your husband won't ever be able to help as much as you wish and pray he could, you will be deserted.

This love will crush your ego. It will destroy your capability to trust yourself. The fear that creeps in the shadows of this love will paralyze you. You will feel guilty for not measuring up. You will feel guilty for feeling guilty. You will feel guilty for feeling guilty for feeling guilty. You will cry over absurd things, like not being pregnant anymore. And over massive things, like the way your body has transformed because of pregnancy. You may never feel like you will get the hang of carrying this love.

But what if I told you that one day your daughter would smile? That she would even laugh? And so will you. She will grow and crawl and walk by eight months and you will giggle because you will be more busy than before proving your progress, proving your strength. You will find answers to your questions. You will get lost in those baby blue eyes, watching her sleep peacefully will melt your heart. What if I told you she will wrap her little arms around you for bear hugs, give you slobbery kisses, butterfly kisses, and Eskimo kisses. What if I told you how incredible it is to see her learn. I would tell you that it gets better. Oh, how it does. She will learn how to sleep and nurse. And I would even tell you she gets really great at both. I would tell you to find the hope in your daughter's eyes. As they lighten, so will that weight.

Though you may never have parenthood all figured out, there will be a day when you will find a way to wrap that love around yourself, instead of being buried in it.

And though it is hard to believe, one day you will have a vivacious, smart, and unbelievably happy little girl. A girl that absolutely adores the world and you as her mother. You, one day, will have clean hair again and time to make breakfast for yourself in the morning. Believe it or not the gym will be something possible again and you will have time for yourself.

You will.

Hold on to that truth. There will be a day that you will marvel over the fact that the girl in front of you is the same baby as before. You will look back on her first birthday and smile. Smile at all the hard times, the fear, the anger, the tears. You will humble yourself and realize God doesn't make mistakes. You are his daughter and he knows you like you know your daughter. He has that overloading overbearing love for you too and you are never alone. He, like you will one day to your daughter, push you. Push you for greatness and push your limits to show you just how miraculous you are.

You will be better. You will grow. You will adjust, and settle, and adjust again. That is what motherhood is, I think. Finding ways through the good heartbreak to fit more love inside of you. There will always be something that stretches your capacity for more. You will learn how to juggle the goodness with the heaviness and you will be happy, so happy!

And, I beg you Cortney, embrace that there will always be things unfinished. Let unfinished be okay. Let unfinished be enough. Don't blink time away.

It is enough.

You ARE enough!

And forget what you see on Instagram,
You are one hell of a mother and that baby girl loves you. 

Happy birthday baby girl. Thanks for the hardest but greatest and most rewarding year of my life. Momma loves you. Xox