You start getting cramps. Your water breaks. A tiny human being passes through your body.

It hurts.

A lot.

In a way, no man can ever comprehend.

The baby is completely dependent on you. She literally draws nourishment from your body. You’re eating for two.

Nothing has ever come even close to preparing you for this.

You haven’t had a full night’s sleep in ages. Your hormones have gone haywire and you might have even gotten depressed. But you cannot take a break. She needs you all the time. Night or day.

You change diapers and deal with copious amounts of poop. You cook. You sing. You read stories. You worry. You love. You worry some more. You love some more. You clean some more. You change more diapers. You cook some more.

You sing some more.

She grows. She crawls. She walks. She talks. She runs. She sings.

You realize that the world is not child-friendly. She is oblivious to dangers you take for granted like speeding vehicles. She doesn’t know fire and electricity are dangerous.

There are people out there who will destroy her life to satisfy their own perversions.

You have to be vigilant, cautious, alert.

You stay up when her forehead burns with a fever. You rush her to the doctor when her body gets covered in spots.

You are in charge of her safety. Her life is in your hands.

You have another one. Maybe two more. You go through the same process. The same pain. The same self-giving.

You’re a bit wiser and better organized, but you still haven’t slept properly in years.

Maybe you’re so exhausted that you can’t even nod off when you do get a spare moment.

You love more. You worry more. You pour in everything you have and then tap into reserves of energy and goodwill that non-mothers aren’t even aware of. That most human beings won’t even believe exist.

Your breasts sag. You gain weight that doesn’t shed. That the world expects you to shed. Cellulite around your belly and bottom. Dark circles under your eyes.

Your husband loses interest in you.

And when he’s in the mood, you’re not. You just want a moment to claim your body as your own.

Your kids do not thank you for everything you pour into them. They sap your wellbeing and then ask for more.

They push your buttons and tell you they hate you because you couldn’t satisfy that one desire. They throw tantrums and hit you and break things. They don’t even let you poo in peace.

And they also tell you how wonderful you are and give you the kind of unconditional love adults aren’t capable of.

They break your heart and exhaust you every single day.

And yet you are still consumed with the knowledge that you could do more. That they deserve even better.

Some days, you wake up with your heart beating even stronger.

Some days, you don’t know how you’ll get out of bed.

And then one day, someone walks up to you and asks what you do. Someone who gets up after a full night’s sleep stretches in bed, uses the toilet in complete privacy, and takes a luxuriously long shower.

Someone who does their day at work comes back home, watches some TV leisurely, and reads in bed before sleeping a full night again.

Someone who can can do whatever they please over the weekend, call in sick whenever they want, and go spend a couple weeks somewhere sunny and serene, forgetting about work entirely.

Someone who is paid for the work they do. Valued by society for the work they do.

Someone who will never understand that good mothering is the difference between a serial killer and a mature human being who will stand up to injustice.

Between Hitler and Gandhi.

“I’m a stay-at-home mom,” you say, bracing yourself, a tremor in your voice.

“Oh, right,” they say, “but what do you do…?”

- When Mom Seems to be a Warning !!