And then it hit me.

Somewhere between 3 and 4 am I found myself sitting Chris-cross applesauce on my bed with my crying 7 day old in my arms. We had been up for almost 6 hours straight trying to find her some relief from the gas that she just couldn't seem to pass. With every whimper my heart broke a little more. I didn't care that I had soaked though my nursing pads, bra, and tank top or that I had only gotten 4 hours of sleep the past three nights. I could careless that my c-section incision was screaming from walking/rocking her around for hours. I only cared that she was hurting and I could not do anything to help. When she finally passed out from pure exhaustion I sat there holding her and I couldn't bring myself to put her down. So I stayed there almost an hour just watching her sleep. It was in this quite moment that it hit me I am a mom. It was just a few years ago we were told that I might never be able to have children and there in my arms laid a prefect healthy baby girl. My days are now full of feedings and dirty diapers. I care way more about the consistency of poo then weather my hair or make up is done. I have traded jeans and cute tops for sweatpants and nursing tanks and sleeping in for sleep deprivation. I am living the dream sore boobs and all!!!