My choice

It all started after my family's Christmas Party. I had a three and a half week old baby, it was getting late (in mom terms, after 8) and my two year old was running around (literally) refusing to get ready to go. I knew I was in for a long night, trying to stay at a hotel with two kids, one who has to eat every few hours and one who was extremely skilled in the art of staying awake. She always has been; I joke she isn't my kid, she's Davids, because I love sleep and she, like him, goes on as little as she can possibly get away with. 

Anyways, I was complaining a little to my mom about being exhausted, my brother made a comment, and we got into a debate. I mentioned how his exhaustion was his choice, to which he replied that so was mine. 

Since then I have been thinking. Yes, I did choose motherhood. I chose when to try for a baby. But that is such an encompassing term, motherhood. I didn't choose to stay awake worried about a sick child, or choose to be thrown up in, peed on, pooped on, sneezed on. I didn't choose to have the pickiest diner, or the complete nap refusal, or the two hour screaming. 

Or maybe I did. I just didn't know it. Just like I didn't know that I chose nighttime snuggles, the most adorable voice I the world asking for one more story, one  more song, "rocking chair please", "honey samach please", "pretty please."

I chose dancing in our pjs at 10 o'clock, play-doh, puzzlers, dolls. I chose watching this amazing little person start figuring out the world, and being completely humbled to realize that I am supposed to help guide her through, and feeling completely inadequate. 

I chose to bring a second child into our family. I chose to shake her entire world, and rid her of single child status. I chose to let more love in than I even imagined possible. 

Whether I meant to or not, I made the choice. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.