The Hard

I'm under no impression that it's easy at all. In fact, I'm aware that it's quite hard. I know the complaints are innocent and I know that motherhood is work. Right now, I would give much to be the one with the noisy house and the sleepless nights and the fingerprints on the windows.  Our house is too quiet, too clean, too restful.

I've heard that carrying a child for nearly ten months can ruin your body, your sanity, your ankles. I'm afraid, if I'm not vigilant, that not carrying a child could ruin my body, my sanity, my faith. To where do I run in the hurt? In whom do I place my trust?

I want the hard. I want the sleepless. I want the hurt.

Because right now is hard; right now is sleepless; right now, it hurts. And I'll gladly exchange this hurt for that.