If you broke, who would stay up at night, terrified of the shadows? Who would hold your tiny miracle just right, who would love him and smell the top of his head? Who would stare at him, marveling while he slept in their arms?
Even if you're not giving birth to an heir to the throne (third in line, mind), there's something to be said for the royal treatment all Brits get during pregnancy and birth. This is, after all, the land of Mary Poppins. It's having a baby, pinkie extended.
No one would breastfeed for a year (which is really just the minimum recommendation) if we could not continue with our lives while doing so. If we were stuck at home, unable to go shopping, eat at restaurants or play with our older children, it would be impossible.
I've always known that becoming a parent changed your life, but I didn't realize how until I had my own child. There's a big secret that nobody tells you before you have kids: Parents have superpowers.
I know what you're thinking. We were together every night for a week and then I disappeared. How could I just break it off like I did? The long and short of it is that you all got me through a really awful transition in my life. To be blunt, I used you. Let me explain.
In the night, when you're sitting on the hard floor with your crying baby and your crying self and your despair because you want to just stop it but you don't know how, I wish you could zoom out and see that you're one of an ocean of mamas rocking on the floor in the night.
For the first year of my daughter's life, everything was big: big love, big frustration, big anxiety, big mood swings, big me. Not since I was a teen had I been so transfixed by my own now-shriveled navel.
I'm one of those women who has "prescription sleep aids," but I'm careful not to take them every night. Since my daughter was born, eight years ago, I've slowly cobbled together a group of coping mechanisms to get me through the night.