It. Is. Everything.

It's 1:57 in the morning. I've got to get up in a few hours, possibly sooner if that's what my three-month-old son wants to do. He's sleeping like an angel in his pack-n-play at the foot of our bed. Lola, our beloved adopted pit bull, is curled up on the loveseat beside him, keeping a close watch as usual. In the room down the hall (Vaught's room), Eric's grandparents from Meridian are snoozing after a long drive to come see their new great-grandson and spend some time with us over the holidays. Eric's sister is asleep on the living room couch and will leave from the Memphis airport in mere hours to catch her flight back to Virginia. Where's Eric? Snoring like a grizzly bear beside me. I have no idea how Vaught has not been woken up by his dad's snoring. I've been awake for a while now and have had to punch/shove/shake him several times just to get the snoring to the status of "low rumble." I had a shower sometime in the late afternoon, but I stink again from a spilled bottle of formula combined with sweat from the workout I had earlier tonight at 9. My husband just let out the biggest yawn right in my face, and I'm pretty sure something has crawled down his throat and died (morning breath is the absolute, most disgusting thing in the world to me).

It is now 2:08. Being a mother is everything.

Do you have any idea how selfish I was before becoming a mom? Without me having to go into detail, just trust me--I was. It was all about me. Sure, I was considerate of my husband, and I do love him more than I love myself, but I also often thought about myself and my wants and needs a lot more than I thought about his. Vain, I know. A chubby little boy has changed all of that though.

Do you have any idea what it's like to get to pick up and hold and cuddle and rock and soothe and feed and clothe a physical piece of your heart? How about a piece of the person you love more than anything? Vaught is half of me and half of Eric; he is the two of us rolled into one perfectly chunky little ball of light. Do you know how beautiful that is?

Do you know how delightfully, painfully overwhelming it is to look at a tiny person and see your entire world looking back at you? Just blinking up at you, so sweet and so innocent. So unaffected by the harshness of this world and what's to come. My heart aches at the thought of what he might have to endure some day. And at the same time, I know I shouldn't worry.

Being a mother is everything.

It is hard, and it's the easiest, most natural job I have ever had. It is tough and yucky, but it's more fun than I can ever explain. It is giggles and smiles and worry and fear. It is spit-up and poop and boogers and "Babe, would you come look at this?" It is bath time and lavender-scented lotion. It is soft skin and chubby fingers. It is a toothless grin and a fuzzy head.

Being a mother is everything.

I never had the desire to become one. I didn't like kids, said I was never having them. I was going to live my life with my husband the way I wanted to--child and worry-free! No commitments (besides the one we made to each other), no dirty diapers to change, no whining to listen to, no car seats to lug around.

Being a mother is everything.

He doesn't cry much, but when he does it's the sweetest sound in the world. It tells me that he's alive and well. If I wasn't tired at the end of the day, I could stay up all night looking at him and have done so a couple of times. I'm sure I'm tired during the day sometimes, but I don't really notice. I didn't know how to change diapers until he was born, but I learned quickly and am a pro now. I can give him a bath in under three minutes and can swaddle with the best of them!

Being a mother is everything.

It's everything you wanted that you didn't know you wanted until you got it. It's what makes you wonder who you were before you became one. It makes you not really even care to know. You know those single, twenty-somethings who say things like, I'm so glad I'm not a twenty-five-year-old parent! They think you envy their undemanding lifestyle, but you don't. 1). You're too busy changing dirty diapers and mixing bottles to notice what they're doing. 2). You know they could never handle a love this big. Well, not yet at least. Not until it happens to them.

Being a mother is everything.

It is love and it is life. It's terrifying and wonderful all at once. It is a blessing, and I have no idea how I lived up until September 25th, 2014. It is liberating and humbling. It is difficult and oh-so-second-nature.

Being a mother is everything. Do you hear me?

It. Is. Everything.