Little Miss Olive Rose came into this world on May 24th, 2016 at 2:55 am, two weeks early, to the day. 7 lbs 5 oz and 20” long. I think I’m supposed to say something like “She is the missing piece to our family” or “I didn’t know I could love like this,” “our lives are complete now.” That’s what I’m supposed to write underneath the perfect whited out intsagram picture with beautiful pink peonies “oh so casually” placed strategically in the picture, me wearing an anthropologie dress with my hair looking perfect and my winged liner so sharp it could cut you. That would be a lie though. Trust me, I want that as much as the next person. I envy all the instagram accounts that know how to edit their pictures to look bright and white, and sunny. I’m not making fun of them. I’m just telling you the truth. At least my truth.

My truth is that that doesn’t exist, at least not in my world. In my world, I don’t sleep until about 4:30 am, I haven’t done my hair in almost 3 weeks, and my showers last about 2 minutes, and I’ve only shaved my legs twice since she was born. My boobs hurt. A lot. I hurt a lot in places I didn’t think I could hurt. My truth is that I don’t actually know what I’m doing, I’m playing grown up. I’m just waiting on the day where it doesn’t feel like I’m just “playing” this role. I don’t know why she cries sometimes, and that’s OK. I didn’t know about meconium until it happened. Look it up, it’s awesome. I didn’t know about her choking the first few days and how fluid and guck comes out her nose and mouth and it’s just her cleaning out her lungs. I didn’t know how hard breastfeeding was until I had to do it. Or how sore you were gonna get. Or how exhausted I would feel. Or how overwhelming it is. Even people offering you help is overwhelming. Or how you ACTUALLY forget to eat. Trust me. This mamma does not forget to eat… until 3 weeks ago. It would be 4:00 in the afternoon and I would remember I hadn’t eaten. My truth is that it sucks. Let’s all take a minute to let all the gasping and horrified mothers judge me for a bit, and then I’ll finish. *****moment of silence for judging me***** OK. Ya. I said it. It friggin sucks. Who ACTUALLY wants to look like poo, literally HAVE poo on them, have a jiggly stomach, be so tired you want to cry, not know what the hell you’re doing, and have a million people plus their dog give you advice on what worked for them? I don’t. Babies are beautiful (kind of- another lie people say. They actually aren’t THAT beautiful. They have swollen little beady eyes and weird shaped heads). But they are cute and make cute little billy goat noises and when they fart they smile and it’s super cute. But if we’re speaking honestly here, it’s hard. It’s really hard.

But then one day, you’re watching them sleep, and their tiny little breaths are the only thing you can hear, and their tiny little chest is all you see, and its moving up and down, up and down, and you have a silent prayer and hope to God that he never stops that little beating heart.  You hope like hell that this little human that counts and depends on you for everything…. that this little human grows up to know that while everyday is hard, and everyday has struggles and battles, you hope they know how you want the best for them. And you hope that it’s you. I want to be the best for you Miss Olive. So on that day, wether it’s the moment she is born, or 10 days old… on the day your motherly instinct kicks in and you go from just feeling “protective” of her to absolute love, treasure it. I would be lying to you if I said I felt an overwhelming sense of love for my daughter the second I saw her. I felt like I had to protect her, yes. I had to feed her. I had to keep her alive, I had to make sure she was always OK. But then it happened. I was watching her sleep and I cried. For the first time since she was born. I didn’t even cry at her delivery. I cried days later. She chose me. To love her. To protect her. To keep her warm. To keep her full. To love her.

She is half of me, and I really hope it’s the good half.