What more do they want?

How far would I go for my kids? Really?

I grew them in my body for nine ten months. I let them make me unspeakably ill. They embarassed me by making me vomit violently in a public restaurant (well, a McDonalds, but still), and then forced me to walk around for weeks with a burst blood vessel in my EYE. I lived on Carnation Instant Breakfast shakes because no other food tasted good and no other food would stay down.

I let them kick me in personal, private areas. I let them jam their feet and other appendages into sensitive internal organs.

Then, once they finally got here, I let them suck on an erogenous zone for nutrition. That erogenous zone? NOT ANYMORE! The giving of nutrition to the kids also resulted in cracked nipples, swollen, incredibly painful breasts and one case of mastitis.

And that's not all, folks. I quit my job. I gave up my ability to sleep through the night. I used to be able to sleep through ANYTHING. Now? One of them shifts in their beds in a way that is slightly unusual and I'm awake, analyzing whether I should get up and check on them, thinking about the prior day and looking for indications that illness might be upon us.

And when illness does strike, I have been known to thrust my hands into the path of oncoming vomit to prevent it's landing on hard-to-clean furniture. Vomit that is not my own.

I have had someone else's blood, urine, feces, saliva, vomit, snot and tears all liberally wiped on me. And that doesn't count boogers. Few days go by when I am not adorned by bodily fluids that are not my own.

How far would I go for my kids? I'd do all that, and more. With pleasure. But that doesn't mean that I'm not looking forward to the days when I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night at the drop of a hat.

This post is brought to you by the Parent Blogger's Network and the Harper Collins new release Dangerous Admissions. Go answer the question "How far would you go for your kids?" and enter to win $200 and other fun prizes.