I've puked for 35 weeks. And gained weight from being unable to be as active as I wanted. 

And it's okay that you might not be glowing. It's okay that it hurts or can be downright miserable. Hello swollen ankles and round ligament pain. 

It's okay that you might not be able to chase after the kids or keep the house as clean. And nobody dies from the occasional cereal for supper because momma is too exhausted to cook after working all day. 

It's okay that it doesn't look like the movies or the social media bubble. 

You're growing a life. And I'm tired. Really tired. Don't ask me how much weight I've gained. Don't ask me why we would ever want more babies when it is so hard on my body. Don't resent that I'm not doing it all anymore. That I'm not at every church function or any at this point. Or that you miss a meeting or that you didn't bathe your toddler last night. And it's okay that this is stressful at times and it may cause some strain in your relationship with the one you love. 

I've spent the whole day feeling like I needed to justify to bitter people who can't say something kind or keep silent. And I feel spent. I've pushed my body even when I should be on bedrest. I've bickered with my spouse because he's stressed. 

And I just felt like somewhere out there some mom needs to know what I wish someone would assure me of. You are doing better than you think. You are growing a little miracle. And it isn't always pretty or Disney or Rated G. But it's gonna be okay. And the hurt and discomfort and the pain and the labor is sooooo worth it all. 

You're gonna be alright, momma. And you're doing better than you give yourself credit for.