There are about a thousand books, blogs and articles about having a newborn. Nearly all of them make the experience sound utterly terrible. They inform you about how much the baby will cry endlessly and poop and be in constant need. They tell you how you as a parent will likely feel angry, stressed, tired and depressed. They tell you about all the awful things your body has had to endure because of pregnancy and birth and how you are not likely to ever make a full recovery. They warn you that this time in your life may bring about distance or resentment between you and your spouse. Most of them offer well meaning tips and advice about how to get through this difficult time and survive being a parent to a young child.
But here is the thing: I want to do more than survive. I want to be fully present. I want to experience the fullness of this time in my life in all of its beauty and difficulty. I want to hold it, to treasure it, to drink it in. I want to translate the language of his gurgles, his cries, his laughter into poetry. I want to learn from these rich moments and carry the wisdom I gain into my future. I want motherhood to rub me raw, and then add new layers, and transform me into a new, better, deeper, more creative version of myself.
