Now that I have two babies, people often ask me, "Isn't it hard to remember life without them?"
And for a second I feel bad, and uncomfortable, and unsure how to answer. For me, it's not hard. I remember very clearly my life before babies.
I remember desperately wanting to be a mother. To know what it would feel like to be pregnant, to breastfeed. To create a human being with the person that I love. I remember feeling like I would suffocate under the astounding and oppressive unknown. I remember bitterly hating the cruel unfairness that is infertility.
I remember trying to explain to people that I was not unhappy in my life. But that with my happiness, with my love for my husband and my love for life, I carried the weight of a sadness I didn't know how to handle.
There is not a day that goes by where I forget any of that.
Words seem petty and foolish when I try to use them to describe my love for our babies. Words like "amazing" and "incredible" only frustrate me for their weakness.
Little details blow me away. Like the golden wisps on top of Rhys' head. Or the way Quin coos when he catches me smiling at him. The fact that my babies have these perfect tiny little hands, hands that curl around my finger in the middle of the night, clenching and unclenching as they nurse off to sleep.
This too feels unbelievably unfair. The tables have turned and I have an amazing and terrifying abundance.
I remember life before. I choose this. Again and again, I choose this.