The funny thing about motherhood is that it all sounds so excruciating, yet most of us, myself included, would define it as it the greatest joy of our lives.

In pregnancy, I gained upwards of fifty pounds.

I was in labor for 18 hours with three hours of pushing.

In the infancy stages, I was not sleeping. At all.

My son cried for most of his waking hours.

Feedings, nap schedules and diaper changes consumed my day.

I had the baby blues and cried for no reason.

I didn’t even feel human, let alone, like I had an identity.

And that’s ok.

This vulnerable life was relaying on me for every single need to simply survive. At that time, I also felt like I was simply surviving. We were in this together.

Then it all started to come back.

The baby weight came off.

I went back to work, and had some adult conversations.

My husband and I went on a few date nights, and sparingly saw our friends.

My life is different. I am different.

I lost friends, and gained some new ones (with kids). I don’t go to concerts or have ski dates with my spouse.

And that’s OK.

Now I like going to bed at 9 p.m.

I enjoy doing things as a family.

My entertainment is mostly sitting around watching what new things my sons have mastered.

As a family, we laugh until we cry.

Sometimes I just cry, because it’s not all fun.

Sure, I mourn my former life and miss my less responsible days. I still enjoy a happy hour and try to get in one ski day a year.

I am the same person, but now I am a mother. I wear that badge of my identify with the most pride of all.