We have a nightly routine in our home: Finn is fed, bathed, lullabied and rocked, and after drifting to sleep Mike and I sneak back in his nursery to swoon over him. We say we won’t (getting a one-year-old to sleep is no small feat) but like clockwork Mike will whisper me into the room, or vice versa, and we just stand there in amazement of him. Like it’s the first time we’re meeting him all over again. It’s during one of these nightly sessions I looked down at my stomach, pregnant with our second child, and admitted in a whisper: “I can’t do it. I can’t love someone else this much.”
I immediately feel guilt, followed by relief from my confession, and then more guilt – surely my sole, most important job in this world is to love my children, equally and unconditionally. And I will. Still, saying “hello” to this new life feels like a “goodbye” to the small world in which Finn and I exist, where kisses are sloppy and grapes are cut in quarters. It’s a welcome intrusion, but an intrusion nonetheless.
A blog I follow on Instagram recently shared this beautiful and gut-wrenching photo of a mom saying “good bye” to her first child before delivering her second – their last embrace as a duo. This picture is the embodiment of my wonderful predicament: My world is overflowing with love, and my only worry is I won’t have enough to go around.
I cannot wait to meet this tiny soul that’s about to enter this world. I can’t wait to cut her grapes, paint her toes, and rock her to sleep. For now, though, I’m clutching Finn tighter at bedtime, and looming over his crib just a bit longer.
If you’re mom to one, you understand.