Being a mom is not the same as not. (Duh, right?)
It was weird, in the beginning, hearing my own voice loud and purposeful, waxing about how Ferdinand is content to sit just quietly and how Max's misbehavior sends him on an egoistic journey. Now, it's odd for me to hear others' voices reading aloud to my daughter. I get anxious for my turn, as creating a scene with inflection and drama have become something I look forward to.
Gross things have happened. Why, only hours ago, burbling and rumbling from my infant's bottom resulted in a costume change for the both of us. My pre-mom days never had me consider how sticky infant poop is. And, well...never mind.
My body is free reign. A baby on a boob, a toddler in an armpit and a chunk of my butt in my husband's palm. I don't take the time to hide myself at home, because it's just too much work. And besides, why create body issues in my daughters so soon? I do clothe myself, I'm not that "free".
Our bed is truly full of love. By 6 a.m. there are no less than 5 bodies, breathing peacefully, resting side-by-side. I never thought this would be something I loved. It sounds quite annoying to 20 year old me. However, being squished by two people who grew in my belly and who I couldn't love more if I tried, well that's pretty freaking awesome.