© arthurhidden
© arthurhidden

4. Primal love

I knew I’d love my children, and I figured the love would resemble that I felt for my husband. And it did, but there was an even deeper, intense aspect to it. I couldn’t fathom just how much I’d cherish those late-night nursing sessions, or how I’d delight in witnessing those first faltering steps. At all stages of their lives so far, there are those moments when I look at my children and my heart wants to burst at their beauty (both inside and out). It’s that all-encompassing feeling that you’d sacrifice your own life for these tiny people. Or in a more simplistic way, you put their needs before your own… basically all the time.

5. The urge to do it all over, again, and again…

When my husband and I decided to start our family, we never discussed how many children we’d like to have. If someone had told my 27-year-old self that I’d eventually be the mother of six children, I’d have ended up curled in a foetal position on the floor, whimpering softly. But I’ve discovered that as I nurture my children and help them to develop their character, they in turn have helped me to refine my own.

I’m a stronger person because of them. I’m becoming a more patient person than I ever would have been. I’ve been pushed to my limits of endurance, and have been forced to look inside myself at qualities that needed to change, yet would have been easy to conceal or avoid without being viewed through the eyes of an impressionable child.

I never expected it, but I welcome it.

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