Tonight J and I put Grace to bed together, taking turns with reading books and singing songs and playing the nightly light game– where one of us turns off the light as a sign it’s time for bed, and she turns it back on, and we turn it back off… We both feel guilty that by the time Grace wakes up tomorrow we will already be on our way to the hospital, guilty about not being there to put her to bed tomorrow night, and about the fact that by the time she sees us next, there will be another baby lying in my arms. We are excited, we can’t wait, yet we recognize that this is the end of the world as Grace knows it. Seeing her so cute and cuddly, happily moving from one lap to the other, absolutely basking in all this singular attention– well, I can’t help but feel like a traitor.
There are things I will forget about tomorrow, in that moment when I am finally holding my baby boy. I’ll forget about how uncomfortable I’ve been for the past four weeks with his head so low in my pelvis I was sure it was going to pop out at any time. I’ll forget about how it feels to have a little hand repeatedly try to punch it’s way through my cervix. I’ll probably forget about how he continued to put me through this, week after week, rather than ripping open that water sack and forcing me to the hospital early like a good little boy. I’ll even forget about how itchy I feel in this very moment, effectively scrubbed down by my hospital-issued disinfectant, unable to lotion myself up post shower even though it’s freaking winter out there and my dry skin feels like prickly fire all over, something no amount of scratching can fix. I won’t forget about the months of uncomfortably sleepless nights, but at least by finally having a purpose for being awake, I’ll be able to move on. All that I will forget about tomorrow, skin on skin with my little man, hubby by my side. But Grace’s little face tonight, leaning into me for a kiss, waving her hand at J and saying, Dada, bye!, I won’t be able to forget. In such a touching and profound family moment, she will be missed.
I don’t think I’ve put enough thought into how it will feel to be insanely in love with two kids instead of just one. I know it will happen, I know it just does. But I’m so protective of Grace and her feelings, and this baby, until I can actually hold him in the flesh, is still so abstract, that I haven’t quite wrapped my mind around it.
Despite that, I know that tomorrow is the day I’ll start telling her she’s a big girl and not a baby, even though by all intensive purposes, at 17 months, she actually is still a baby. Tomorrow is the day where I stop being able to carry her on command. Tomorrow is the day where I’ll start asking her to play on her own for a while until I finish feeding the baby or changing his diaper. Tomorrow is the day where the short-term and immediate needs of a newborn will supersede some of Grace’s needs, and I will somehow have to reconcile the fact that it is I, Grace’s mom, that is doing the displacing. Tomorrow is the first day in a long line of foot-stomping It’s not fair‘s.
Tomorrow I throw another ball in the air, try my best to juggle, and not let anyone fall. Oy…
One of my favourite stories about my brother-in-law, my sister’s husband, involves his transition from having one kid to two. He was so in love with this first born, his son, that he couldn’t imagine loving another child in the same way. He often would say that he was happy their second was to be a girl, imagining that a daughter for my sister meant he could have his son all to himself. And then my niece arrived. And she was a daddy’s girl from the second she was born.
Even though I had no first hand knowledge of this, I was amongst those that warned him that it would happen, that he would love his daughter as much as his son, that what was difficult to imagine possible would really just be. I find I need to remind myself of that now, as a way to assuage my feelings of guilt. There will not be any less love in my life, but instead a whole lot more.
I kept wondering about the timing, but I believe this week, in particular, is the best one for being offered this gift. Following the loss in our family, following the tragedy that was Sandy Hook Elementary, — heck, we’re even a few days away from the end of the world, if you believe the Mayans– more children, more family, more love, sorry, I know this is total cheese, but, it’s really the best gift of any and all.
Someone might need to remind me of this in a few days, though, when I’m entirely sleep-deprived and Grace is in meltdown mode, angrily trying to tear the baby from my arms and yelling MINE, MINE! Just saying.