by 
She remembers the day vividly. She was young, optimistic and prepared for the marathon ahead of her. As she began, she could see the long road outstretched in front of her. The finish line was out of sight and her breathing slowly increased and became labored. She knew it would be worth it in the end, but the course was long and tortuous and she was nervous.
“What if I can’t do this after all?”
“Was this a mistake?”
“Why would I think I was made for this?”
Her heart rate sped up and her body followed instinctively. She felt out of control of her own body but marveled at its innate ability to propel forward.
Then the pain began.
Everything hurt; she had never experienced this level of pain before and yet the course was far from complete. The finish line taunted her as she counted down the markers that tracked her progress. She was so close and yet so far away.
As the pain mounted, so did her fears. Surrounded by people she still felt alone. Supporters cheered her on with declarations of “you can do this” but inside she was unsure and her confidence wavered. As she persisted, companions who had done this before and run the same race followed along side her; still she was alone on this course. No one could feel the same pain, exhaustion or paralyzing fear that ran through her veins.
No, this feat she would face alone.
She struggled. She cried. She fought like hell with every ounce of her body.
And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly give anymore of herself… she fought some more.
With the finish line just within reach she pulled from the center of her soul, a part of her that she didn’t know existed, and threw herself desperately across the line. Her body was broken and bruised, her mind was exhausted but her spirit was on fire.
Her breathing was quick and shallow and the sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears when a high pitch cry broke through the air. But this was not a cry of pain or of relief. The cry came from the tiny bundle on her chest.
She was now a mother.
