Sometimes I can't believe how much I love my kids.
It's not like any kind of love that I have known before. Nothing compares to it, not the love for my parents, siblings or husband.
And that's not an easy thing to say because I love these other people in my life dearly. But it's true.
It's a kind of love that is truly frighting because it consumes me entirely. Sometimes when they're in my arms or I look at them I wonder how this kind of feeling is possible. It's indescribable.
With this kind of attachment, however, comes a heavy burden. The burden of a parent. The worry, the suffering for their suffering, the paralyzing fear of the what-ifs, the heart wrenching ache in the core of your being when the bad times comes for them.
But there is also the joy that you feel at the smallest moments, their smile, their happiness, their success, their feeling of safety when they're in your arms.
Sometimes I think my heart can't take it, like it will erupt from the pressure of what I feel for them. But I'm also so grateful for that feeling.
It makes me feel more alive than I do at any other moment in my life.