Being a mother was the best of all human experiences, and also the most excruciating. Getting the baby to nurse, getting the baby to eat solids, getting the baby to sleep, the teething, the crying, the crawling, into everything, can’t take my eyes off him for a second, a whole roll of toilet paper stuffed into the toilet, the first steps, the falling, the trips to the emergency room (Does he need stitches?), the Cheerios that stuck together and nearly choked him, the weaning from the breast, the bottle, the pacifier, the grating squeal of Elmo’s voice, the first playdate, the hitting, the grabbing, the first word, Dada (Dada?), the second word, mine, the earaches, the diaper rash, the croup. It was a constant drone, all day, every day, occupying Vicki’s hands, her eyes, her mind. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Who did she used to be? She couldn’t remember.
from Barefoot, by Elin Hilderbrand
Would I change it for anything? Not on your life. Not even for decent sleep.
Wait, how much sleep?