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ste_noni(Let me say first that I don't think of myself as a "writer" and this whole thing seems a bit self-indulgent to me. But I've been home alone all day and these were the thoughts in my head that wanted to come out.)
The Beginning
When I found out I was pregnant with baby #2 (actually baby #4, but that's a different story), I was excited. I had always wanted several children and I was hopeful that this one would stick around. When I saw that little baby on the the ultrasound - with four limbs and a beating heart - I was joyous. But seeing that little baby also felt a bit weird. How would I ever love another baby as much as I loved Ellie? Looking at the ultrasound, I was very happy but I certainly didn't love that picture as much as I loved Ellie. Throughout the early part of my pregnancy, I was plagued by thoughts that I might not be able to love this baby as much. Everyone told me it would happen, and I trusted that it would, but I was still worried.
Then I found out I was having a boy. This made me even more worried. Yeah, I was happy to have "one of each" (as people said to me endlessly) but boys were...foreign. It was weird having one inside me. I mean, in a way, boys represented the greatest threat to Ellie someday becoming what she wanted to be. Boys could hurt her later in life. Men could hurt her now. Little boys at daycare used their size and strength to push her around, although she figured out how to use her verbal abilities to defend herself. Still, I felt fiercely protective that anyone, even the baby I was carrying, might try to take anything away from Ellie. I was shortsighted because I didn't understand that your love for your children is not finite but instead increases with each child. Still, that was in the future.
So, I worried on and off. I assumed I would love this baby boy and bond with him but I was still apprehensive. The night I was in labor with him, I climbed into bed with Ellie, both of us in our warm fuzzy pajamas, and held her tight, knowing that both of our worlds would change forever in a few hours. I was excited to give birth but sad at the same time.
And Then...
Time passed and I got to know my little boy. Like most babies, I suppose, the hair he was born with, dark and thick like his father's, fell out over the first few months and was replaced with a soft, light brown down. It is uniformly about a half inch long now, except for this whispy mohawk down the center of his head of original hair. After his bath each night, his hair sticks out from his head but it is so soft that it looks like a soft brown halo.
He dimples on each cheek. He also has adorable dimples on his elbows. But the most perfect dimples of all are the four that he has instead of knuckles on each hand. His little hands are so chubby that his knuckles go in instead of out. I get to see his hands, or more specifically his hand, a lot when he is nursing. His right hand is generally tucked under my arm or against my chest but his left had is either gripping my shirt, holding him close to me, or, if I'm not wearing a shirt that pulls up, his little tan hand rests on my breast. Looking down at him, I have plenty of time to inspect that little hand. I know it's growing but so far, the four perfect dimples have remained.
Last Night
He sleeps reliably in either his swing or next to me. I tried - I really did - to get him to sleep anywhere I laid him down but one by one, they quit being acceptable until only the swing and bed were left. Most nights I nurse him to sleep and then put him in the swing for a while as I get Ellie ready for bed. As I finally get into bed, I often feel like I've been given a calorie free version of Ben & Jerry's if he is still asleep in his swing. How wonderful - a chance to fall asleep in a position that is most comfortable for me! And as I lay there, I listen to his swing gently creaking away and I can just make out the dark shape that is my baby boy, swinging away. And suddenly I miss him. The rest of us, Ellie included, are warm and snuggled in our bed and the littlest one of all is alone in his swing. Most nights he wakes up shortly after I've laid down, giving me an excuse to go get him. We fall asleep snuggled next to each other.
When we do fall asleep like this, I often wake up around 3am with aching hips. After two full term pregnancies, my body just is not as tight as it used to be. I need pillows and support to sleep comfortably. But even if he's not nursing, my little boy likes to have me close by. Sometimes I can roll over on my back and give my hips a break but sometimes my movement wakes him up and he wants to nurse again. I could easily put him in his swing at this point; he's still sleepy enough. But I don't want him across the room in the swing. When he's not there, it feels like someone is missing. So, like most nights, I do my best to get as comfortable as possible and remind myself that he won't be this small forever.
See, I was worried about how would I love a boy. Would it be different than loving my daughter? And the truth is that yes, it is different. Not because of their genders, exactly, but because they are different children. And now, six months later, I worry not about loving my boy but about him leaving. People keep telling me that daughters stick around forever, but that boys eventually go their own way. And I hate that idea. I hate to think about my little boy storming out of the house as an angry teenager or simply deciding that calling mom is a pain and she is lame anyway. He has the most angelic hair, perfect dimpled hands, and bright blues eyes and it makes me sad in a profound way to think that I might someday be imposing this love on him.
I guess I love him plenty after all.
[x-posted with the blog]
The Beginning
When I found out I was pregnant with baby #2 (actually baby #4, but that's a different story), I was excited. I had always wanted several children and I was hopeful that this one would stick around. When I saw that little baby on the the ultrasound - with four limbs and a beating heart - I was joyous. But seeing that little baby also felt a bit weird. How would I ever love another baby as much as I loved Ellie? Looking at the ultrasound, I was very happy but I certainly didn't love that picture as much as I loved Ellie. Throughout the early part of my pregnancy, I was plagued by thoughts that I might not be able to love this baby as much. Everyone told me it would happen, and I trusted that it would, but I was still worried.
Then I found out I was having a boy. This made me even more worried. Yeah, I was happy to have "one of each" (as people said to me endlessly) but boys were...foreign. It was weird having one inside me. I mean, in a way, boys represented the greatest threat to Ellie someday becoming what she wanted to be. Boys could hurt her later in life. Men could hurt her now. Little boys at daycare used their size and strength to push her around, although she figured out how to use her verbal abilities to defend herself. Still, I felt fiercely protective that anyone, even the baby I was carrying, might try to take anything away from Ellie. I was shortsighted because I didn't understand that your love for your children is not finite but instead increases with each child. Still, that was in the future.
So, I worried on and off. I assumed I would love this baby boy and bond with him but I was still apprehensive. The night I was in labor with him, I climbed into bed with Ellie, both of us in our warm fuzzy pajamas, and held her tight, knowing that both of our worlds would change forever in a few hours. I was excited to give birth but sad at the same time.
And Then...
Time passed and I got to know my little boy. Like most babies, I suppose, the hair he was born with, dark and thick like his father's, fell out over the first few months and was replaced with a soft, light brown down. It is uniformly about a half inch long now, except for this whispy mohawk down the center of his head of original hair. After his bath each night, his hair sticks out from his head but it is so soft that it looks like a soft brown halo.
He dimples on each cheek. He also has adorable dimples on his elbows. But the most perfect dimples of all are the four that he has instead of knuckles on each hand. His little hands are so chubby that his knuckles go in instead of out. I get to see his hands, or more specifically his hand, a lot when he is nursing. His right hand is generally tucked under my arm or against my chest but his left had is either gripping my shirt, holding him close to me, or, if I'm not wearing a shirt that pulls up, his little tan hand rests on my breast. Looking down at him, I have plenty of time to inspect that little hand. I know it's growing but so far, the four perfect dimples have remained.
Last Night
He sleeps reliably in either his swing or next to me. I tried - I really did - to get him to sleep anywhere I laid him down but one by one, they quit being acceptable until only the swing and bed were left. Most nights I nurse him to sleep and then put him in the swing for a while as I get Ellie ready for bed. As I finally get into bed, I often feel like I've been given a calorie free version of Ben & Jerry's if he is still asleep in his swing. How wonderful - a chance to fall asleep in a position that is most comfortable for me! And as I lay there, I listen to his swing gently creaking away and I can just make out the dark shape that is my baby boy, swinging away. And suddenly I miss him. The rest of us, Ellie included, are warm and snuggled in our bed and the littlest one of all is alone in his swing. Most nights he wakes up shortly after I've laid down, giving me an excuse to go get him. We fall asleep snuggled next to each other.
When we do fall asleep like this, I often wake up around 3am with aching hips. After two full term pregnancies, my body just is not as tight as it used to be. I need pillows and support to sleep comfortably. But even if he's not nursing, my little boy likes to have me close by. Sometimes I can roll over on my back and give my hips a break but sometimes my movement wakes him up and he wants to nurse again. I could easily put him in his swing at this point; he's still sleepy enough. But I don't want him across the room in the swing. When he's not there, it feels like someone is missing. So, like most nights, I do my best to get as comfortable as possible and remind myself that he won't be this small forever.
See, I was worried about how would I love a boy. Would it be different than loving my daughter? And the truth is that yes, it is different. Not because of their genders, exactly, but because they are different children. And now, six months later, I worry not about loving my boy but about him leaving. People keep telling me that daughters stick around forever, but that boys eventually go their own way. And I hate that idea. I hate to think about my little boy storming out of the house as an angry teenager or simply deciding that calling mom is a pain and she is lame anyway. He has the most angelic hair, perfect dimpled hands, and bright blues eyes and it makes me sad in a profound way to think that I might someday be imposing this love on him.
I guess I love him plenty after all.
[x-posted with the blog]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-04 01:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-04 01:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-04 02:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-04 01:32 pm (UTC)::goes and grabs the Kleenix::
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-05 02:39 am (UTC)I learned that girls find husbands and leave with them, boys never leave. There were dreadful arguments when they were teenagers, but nothing like they'd have been with girls. Teenaged girls, in my experience, tend to bond with their dads, teenaged boys, with their moms. But again, each child is different. And they're all different in the ways they're precious to us.
Kiss your baby for me--kiss them both.