From the moment I realized I was pregnant right up to this very moment I have loved being a mother. I have not always liked it, but I have loved it.

My pregnancy was easy: no morning sickness, no weird cravings. (I did gain 50 lbs because I took pregnancy as a sign to have carte blanch at every Mexican restaurant this side of the state.) For the most part, though, being pregnant was the best I've felt in my life.

For 40 weeks I kept tabs on the baby growing inside me. Every kick was a miracle of the human body. As he grew I saw the outline of his feet when they pushed on my distended belly.

The baby was my constant companion. The attachment I felt with him was significant and intense. My husband and I planned for this baby and it was ours, yes, but my body was growing it. I was taking care of the baby. I was talking to him and singing to him and caressing him. He was ours, but he was mine.

Labor was labor: One bad contraction, an epidural, twelve hours. Then he arrived. The nurses handed him to Husband who sat with him in the corner while I was cleaned up. Then they took the baby to be cleaned and measured and weighed and APGARed. Where was my baby? Why wasn't my baby with me?

For 40 weeks I had enjoyed the comfort of my baby inside of me. Now he was whisked away with no regard for my feelings. Ripped from my body with no thought to the loving care I'd taken to ensure he was healthy and alive. I did not want to share him with the rest of the world! He was mine!

They were irrational feelings, I know: to feel that I had been violated somehow, to feel that my son was mine alone, to feel that a piece of me was dying because it was no longer growing inside of me. I was sad and I was angry. There was nothing I could do.

Months passed and the feelings I had dimmed as I watched our son develop a smile, roll over, laugh. I was able to see that I had grown this being so he could become himself. I no longer yearned for him to kick inside of me. Instead, I could not wait to see his next milestone.

So it has been for the past nine and a half years. I've watched Max grow and struggle and overcome obstacles. I've watched as he develops his confidence and learns to control his frustrations.

I still remember the pain of birth--not the physical pain, but the emotional pain--and I understand now that it is all part of the journey.