On the Sunday we got home from the hospital, almost immediately I went upstairs to take a nap. It was the first time I'd been alone since we were admitted to the hospital for Eli's birth and as I crawled into bed I immediately started to cry.
I couldn't stop the tears, they were neither happy nor sad. They meant everything that had happened to me, each tear shed representing all that I had been through - my pain, joy, fears and hopes, and yet at the same time the tears meant nothing at all. They just were. They were impossible to stop; a necessary process after the three most intense days of my life.
I cried because I was in pain, and I cried because I was so happy it was less pain than the actual birth.
I cried because I felt like I had no idea what I was doing, and I cried because I couldn't believe that mommy-instinct is a real thing and I knew exactly what to do.
I cried because I was exhausted, and I cried because I had never felt more alive in my life.
I cried because over the past few days I had been surrounded by my generous and loving family, and I cried because I was finally alone and left to myself.
I cried because it was all finally over, and I cried because it was only just the beginning.
I cried because everything had changed and I didn't feel ready, and I cried because everything had changed and God knew I was ready.
I cried for so many reasons, yet for none at all.
My tears meant everything and nothing at the same time.