I want to have stretch marks and sleepless nights and puke stained clothes.
I want a messy house, no time for myself and the constant fear that I'm failing.
I want tantrums and bedtime battles and chaotic mornings, lost toys and missing socks.
I want to stop wanting, to start living, not for myself but for another precious little life.
I want to forget the pain and grief and feel the innocent excitement and anticipation of things to come.
I want to stop feeling hate and resentment at the sight of a baby on board badge.
I want to be filled with love and worry for a new soul growing inside me.
I want to be a mother but in my heart I know I never will.