How tired I'd be all the time in becoming a parent. How I'd almost never get a good night's sleep, and how even if the whole family goes to bed too late, the kids will still have 10 times more energy than I the next day.
How horrendous the VERY FIRST POOP a baby produces is--especially when it arrives at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night.
How someone could actually cut me open with scissors as I push a baby out of me, and I wouldn't even realise because my lower half was just one great nether region of pain.
That there would be times I'd be in the emergency room, wilted with worry, because my child had a 104 degree fever that acetaminophen wouldn't touch.
That there would be times I'd be in the emergency room, wilted with worry, because my child vomited every 10 minutes for 17 hours straight.
that children could actually frustrate you so much, you go into your room, close the door, and cry.
that children are so over-run by colds, flu, viruses, earaches, and throat infections during the first few years of their lives, that they can become white, thin and frail, with their backbones prominently visible as they shiver out of their clothes and into their pyjamas.
that I would grow up and forget nearly all my fairytale worlds and girlish joy
Old fears of monsters and the dark would be replaced with fears of illness, cancer, whether my child is making friends at school, and if other children are being cruel.
My Mother once told me how I would feel when the time came that I would decide I'd never have more children,
and she was right.