A year.

What a difference it makes, yeah?

One year ago today, I marked the due date of my little man. Chris and I walked the beach, pondered the adventure just out of our grasp, daydreamed about who our baby would be.

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I was hugely pregnant. Nervous. Uncertain. Excited. Hopeful.

Would I love being a mom? Would I even like it? Would I like my kid? I mean…I know I would LOVE him…but would I LIKE him? (It turns out that I do, oh god, I do)

Could I handle a drug-free, all natural childbirth? Could my body do it? Could my mind? (Yes, yes, yes)

Was Mango a boy? A girl? (BOY!)

What would life look like? Baby at daycare, mom at work…how would we balance it all…would any semblance of the old me remain?

Would the learning curve be as steep as I feared it was? (Steeper, in fact)

Would we make it at least a full year breastfeeding? (We would!)

Would this little person steal my heart, my whole heart, every single little crack and crevice of it? (And then some)

Would I be astonished, floored, absolutely in awe of who I have become, what I have learned, how much I have changed in just one year’s time? (I would, I would, I would)

And, looking back, would I have had any idea of just how very much I would adore a tiny little creature? How hard I would work each morning to hear those little giggles, the sweetest music my ears have ever heard? How I could love something so much it makes my heart weak?

No, I would not have had the slightest idea because I could not have had the slightest idea. But looking back to a year ago today, I would tell myself to buckle up, hold on tight, you’re in for the most magnificent adventure of your life.

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