hard...but great.

I almost named the title of this post "the great & the not-so-great" but after thinking about it, I realized that title wasn't very appropriate because (and this will sound so cliche) even the not-so-great moments are pretty awesome. Hard is a much more appropriate word.

Here are the facts... I knew even before I got pregnant that being a parent was hard work. You'd be a fool to think it's a walk in the park. And I knew that I would love my child unconditionally. And I knew that my life would change tremendously. But the fact of the matter is... I didn't realize then how hard parenthood is (and I'm only at the beginning!), or truly how much I would love our son, or exactly how quickly my entire life would be flipped upside down and centered around this little person that I created. 

And it's awesome. 

The things you'd think I'd not love, like waking up at the butt-crack of dawn, or changing his dirty diapers, or even being attached to him 24/7 because we're breastfeeding, I totally do love. They can be hard sometimes. I might literally die if someone told me I couldn't have coffee anymore. But I really do love them. 

When Ty wakes up at 6 a.m., my first initial thought is always, "Sweet boy... go back to bed. The sun hasn't even come up yet..." but with a bit more persistent grunting I always roll over and see his beautiful blue eyes staring at me and he starts wiggling and squirming excitedly the moment he notices that I'm awake and there's not an ounce in me that can force him to lay in bed a moment longer when he's just so anxious to greet the day. And truth of the matter is, he's such a morning baby. It's the best and happiest time of the day for him. He smiles and laughs and coos and squirms in the most heart-melting way in the morning that I actually look forward to it. I am in bed at 9 p.m. every night, not so much because I'm that tired, but because I want to be awake and active with him at 6 a.m. I want to love on him and smile with him and kiss him all over. So yeah, waking up before the sun rises every morning... hard... but great. 

And then there's breastfeeding. If someone was to ask me what my favorite part of being a new mother was, I might answer breastfeeding. And if someone were to ask me what my least favorite part of being a new mother was, I might answer breastfeeding. Breastfeeding is awesome in so many ways. I love being able to single-handedly provide the necessary nutrition to help our little baby grow. I love the sounds he makes while he's eating. I love the closeness we experience and the way he looks at me just before he latches on and I love the way he throws his head back and let's out a big stretch when he's finished so that I can know he's satisfied. Nursing Ty may be, in my 25 years, my most favorite thing that I've ever done. Maybe not the best, certainly not the most impressive -- and I mean, I do have ambitions outside of being a mother.... but my most favorite and I consider it such an honor. And have I mentioned that I'm good at it? Not to brag, I mean I'm terrible at being pregnant... but nursing? Nursing I'm good at. My breasts (thanks to my mom's awesome genes) are constantly ready to go. They're practically at a constant state of engorgement. I do not struggle in the milk production area at all. I mean, I started leaking colostrum at 28 weeks. And when my milk let down like a day after giving birth, my boobs went from a size B to a DD (I have the stretch marks to prove it). But then there's the flip side. Breastfeeding means being attached to your baby at all times. Sure, you can pump and leave them for an hour here or there but trust me, your breasts will let you know that your baby still needs to eat. Ouch. And I'm not saying that I'm the most independent person in the world but I do like having a bit of freedom. While breastfeeding, like being pregnant, your body is not just yours. The food I eat and the beverages I drink are not just for me. I can't even tell you when the last time I had something with a bit of spice in it was. I'd like to be able to let Brandon be the one to wake in the middle of the night to feed Ty. Or not have to worry that I'm not leaving him enough pumped milk when leaving him with my parents for the afternoon. And not to mention that much of our days are centered around breastfeeding. If I have to run to the grocery store, I need to make sure it's closely after a feeding. If I'm going to be out for a long period of time, I need to be sure I will have a place to breastfeed. I am not ashamed to breastfeed in public... I will certainly risk the comfort of others to nurture my son... but if I can help it, I will try to do it privately. But all in all... my love for breastfeeding exceeds my annoyances with it. Breastfeeding? Hard... but great.

One thing I didn't anticipate was just how much I would love Ty. I knew I would love him. I knew that it would be like a love I had never experienced... but nothing, absolutely no figment of my imagination, could have prepared me for the vastness of this love. I have never in my life been more protective of something, or more in love with someone. My life has transitioned. I'm not the person I used to be. A year ago, if you would have asked me who I was.... who Katie Sillivan was exactly... I might have answered with a dozen different adjectives... "I'm a wife. And a wannabe wine-connoisseur. A lover of fashion and interior design and spur-of-the-moment trips to Vegas..." I probably could've gone on an on. But now? Now if you were to ask me who I am, I'd answer simply, "I'm Ty's mom." And that's it. That's all. It's not that I've lost my sense of identity but being his mom supersedes all else. It's now what I take the most seriously. I'm responsible for the upbringing of another person and I will do everything I can to be successful at this. I stay awake at night praying for the right amount of patience and wisdom and guidance that it will take to raise this child. I don't want to mess it up. Sometimes when Ty has days where he doesn't want to be put down and I spend all my time holding him and letting the pile of clean clothes that need to be folded turn into a mountain on the sofa, I wonder if I'm creating a monster. Am I already spoiling him? Should I let him cry it out? What if these small decisions I'm making now cause him to become a 5 year old terror? (These are honestly the things I'm currently freaking over...). But I know I can do it. Transitioning to a momma? Hard... but great/awesome/kinda what I feel like I was born to do.