By Lauren Eberspacher 
It started the moment you saw those two pink little lines on the stick. In an instant, a new woman was born. And an immense love that you didn’t know was possible was suddenly there. And it scared you. Am I really ready to have a baby?
Oh Mama, you were made for this.
Or it started when you got the phone call that you’ve been waiting for. A child who grew in the womb of another, but was a dreamed formed in your heart. And finally here he is. Is it finally my turn?
Mama, you were made for this.
After months of growing, the moment is actually here and they place that baby in your arms. And the place inside your heart you didn’t know was there is suddenly overflowing with joy. Now she’s here, and she’s perfect. But this journey of love is only getting started. Am I going to be able to give this baby the love she needs?
New Mama, you were made for this.
Another cry from the nursery, another middle of the night feeding. You drag your feet down the hall and look at the clock. Yep. Every 2 hours, on the dot. You walk into the room and pick up your baby from the crib, taking your place in the rocking chair for another feeding. They say these days are long, but the years are short. How many more nights will be this long?
Tired Mama, you were made for this.
You stand in the check out line, one baby on your hip, another in your belly. You almost made it the whole trip with out any meltdowns, but your little one is done. She shrieks and throws her head back; you’re sure the whole store can hear. Are all trips to the store going to be this hard? This embarrassing?
Weary Mama, you were made for this.
It’s 2am and there are cries from across the hall. Another fever, another croupy cough. You pick up your little boy and you take to that same rocking chair you started sitting in so many years ago. His sick whimpers soften as he rests his hot little body up against yours; he is in the best place he can be. It seems like it’s always something. Didn’t we just get over a round of this?
Sweet Mama, you were made for this.
The door slams in your face. It takes everything in you not to yell. You’re hurting, but you know she’s hurting, too. How can such big words can come from such a small person? You open the door, walk across the room, and sit next to her on the bed, your arm around her shoulders. Deep breath in, deep breath out. But does she know how much I still love her? Even when I feel like I’m failing?
Oh Mama, you were made for this.
You were made to be her: the conquerer of the trenches and the mother of their souls.
To overcome these moments.
To be the calm in the storms of their little hearts.
To be the warrior who shows them that the strength of your love is no match for the fear that is found in this world.
To stand strong in your trenches to withstand the long nights. Or some days to cling to the sides of them, barely hanging on, the feeling of failure creeping in.
You. Are. A. Conqueror.
Oh yes, Mama. You were made for this. You were made to be her.
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