So THIS is what everyone was talking about.

Many times throughout my pregnancy (and periodically before that), friends and relatives wistfully reminded me how wonderful motherhood would be, but how nothing could prepare me for the emotional journey that it would entail: the joys, the sorrows, the tumult, the exhaustion, the change, the growth. I listened, nodded and smiled -- not skeptically, but sincerely believing them and looking forward to embarking on this journey myself.

As my little one grew inside me, I gradually came to feel that my journey had already begun. I felt deeply bonded to my son, as if I already knew him in utero. I imagined his face, his temperament, his habits, his tiny toes and dimpled elbows. I envisioned him at every stage of his development, from a tiny newborn to an awkward 11-year-old to the groom with whom I would dance on his wedding day. Surely my imaginings couldn't be too far from reality, I thought. Isn't this part of "mother's intuition?" When I told my mom how much I already loved him, she said, "just you wait. It hasn't even begun yet." I nodded and smiled again, but this time I didn't really believe her.

Reality began setting in with a blood-curdling wail as I delivered Sebastian. Indeed, I realized afterward, nothing could have prepared me for the supernatural intensity of giving birth. It was, in every possible way, beyond anything I'd ever imagined. It was so agonizing, but so deeply joyful; so ordinary, but so transcendental and transformative. In the weeks that followed, I wondered how something so natural could take on such a monumental, supernatural significance. How something for which I'd been preparing for months, years -- my entire life, even! -- could so completely confound me. How all of my expectations and preparations could, in an instant, disintegrate into distant memories in the face of actually living this process.

THIS was my initiation into the emotional journey of motherhood, and countless times since then, I have experienced the same realization anew. I wonder how I can derive such supernatural joy from such ordinary things: fingers and toes; a perfect, round belly; downy newborn hair; a smile; a coo; a hand reaching out to me; two perfect, hazel eyes dancing at the sound of my voice.

Sebastian laughed today for the first time. It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard: pure, fresh and spontaneous, like a little fountain coming bubbling out of him. And when I think about how this was the very first of literally hundreds of thousands more laughs to come, I am moved to tears. How deeply privileged I am to be able to witness this, my son's first laugh. What an honor it is to care for him, to love him, to nurture him every day; to inspire his growth and participate in his milestones. THIS is what everyone was talking about. The extraordinary significance of such ordinary things. This profound love that cuts so deeply into my heart it actually hurts. This raw, vulnerable, painful joy that continues to confound me every day.