Dear Little Man,
Today you are 4 months old. Sometimes that still sounds so young to me. Four months is still so tiny! Your dad and I find ourselves expecting things of you, things like sleeping for 12 hours straight and sitting up nicely for your baths. We forget that you are only 4 months old. And then on the other hand, sometimes 4 months sounds so old. You are already 4 months old?? That's 33% of the way through your first year! Already! We could already be starting solids (we aren't)! We could already be doing sleep training (we aren't)! We could be putting you to bed without a swaddle (we are. sigh.)!
Sometimes it feels like the first three months of a baby's life move in slow motion. That infant window is characterized largely by a squirmy, relatively helpless little baby who really just eats and sleeps. But then, you hit 3 months old and you start to wake up. You start to be able to do things. And time speeds up. From here on out, you will continue to astound us with the rate at which you acquire new abilities.
You started this month more like a newborn and you ended it more like a baby. You started being able to grab things this month. You reach out and grab whatever you want and bring it straight to your mouth to explore. You can pull the ring on your frog toy to make it play music. You found your feet and they are your favorite thing to grab. I positively adore this habit, as it curves you into a round little ball of baby sweetness and your roll around, grabbing your toes and gurgling and smiling and melting my heart. You have rapidly gained the strength you need to start sitting independently. You can tripod sit like a champ now, and can even sit upright for a few seconds on your own (before tipping headfirst into the carpet). And you started rolling from your back to your tummy. I have to admit, sweet boy, I wasn't quite ready for this big milestone yet. This is the "hard" way to roll, and it took your sister a full two months longer to do it! While I'm thrilled with your strength, it also means that we had to start deswaddling you a little bit sooner than we were ready to. But it was probably the right thing to do. You are incredibly strong and have been breaking out of your swaddle for weeks and weeks now. We even started double swaddling you, but not even that could hold you. You are as strong as your name suggests, and I have little doubt that you will continue to amaze me with your physicality.
As far as sleep goes, you're still waking up once a night (most nights) to eat. It's kind of like playing the nightly lottery. Your dad and I are never quite sure how the night is going to go. Sometimes you sleep six hours before waking. Sometimes you sleep almost 11 hours. Though the 11-hr nights are nice, I don't mind getting up to feed you. I know one day soon you won't wake up any more. You won't need me to come feed you, to come comfort you and snuggle. The night nursings are some of my favorite--they're so quiet and intimate and peaceful. We're also working with you on trying to get you to fall asleep on your own, without needing to be rocked. To be honest, this is one transition that's really hard for me. I love rocking you to sleep. I love seeing your sleeping face nestled snugly against the crook of my arm. I love holding you while you breath in and out so slowly and peacefully. I know it's important for you to learn to handle it on your own . . . but it's hard for me to let go of that aspect of your infancy.
Aside from the physical, you have positively blossomed this month. You are the smiliest, giggliest, chillest little man I could have imagined! We had some friends over for dinner the other night and they kept commenting on how they kept forgetting that there was a baby in the room! You are so content to just bounce in your bouncer and chew on your fingers or toys and watch the world around you. When you're awake, you're happy. The only time you ever really cry is when we're trying to get you to go to sleep. I think it's just because you're so happy with your life that you just want to be awake and enjoying it. I get that, little man. I really do.
Perhaps my absolute favorite thing that you do now is reaching for me when I go to pick you up. You don't have full control over your arms quite yet, so you don't reach up with your hands. Instead, you break into a huge smile and arch your back. It's like you're reaching up for me with your whole body and it makes me die of happiness every time.
I can't believe you're sitting. And rolling. And grabbing. And laughing. And charming the socks off of everyone you meet. I can't believe how adorable you are.
I can't believe you're already . . . and only . . . four months old.
Love love love everything about you,
Mom
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Biting the Pencil
The title is not as dirty as you might think, despite the fact that this post is, ultimately, about sex.
I once heard a valuable tidbit that I've kept with me every day since then (and anything that I still remember these days, after two kids' worth of sleep deprivation, MUST be important): If you're in a bad mood, bite a pencil. Sideways. Hold it in your mouth. The muscles it takes to do so mimic the act of smiling, and your mood will actually improve because your body (muscles) are "smiling." (or your mood will improve because you'll realize you look like a goober sitting there with a pencil clenched between your teeth. Whatevs.)
Having a newborn is hard on any marriage. Truth. Having a newborn while also having a toddler is haaarrrdddd on any marriage. We've actually done a bang-up job of not fighting with each other when mental and physical exhaustion get the best of us. Our relationship hasn't really suffered. If anything, I think I appreciate TH more now as a parent than I did even before. I couldn't have asked for a better parenting partner. He's involved. He's loving. He's involved. He's devoted. He's involved. (Did I already mention that he's involved?)
So, our relationship as parents has actually grown.
But our relationship outside of our parenting roles? That old relationship? The one that is just about him and me, husband and wife?
Practically nonexistant.
It's not that we're bad . . . in fact, like I said, overall we're actually really good. But we're good as our parent-role, not necessarily as our husband-wife role.
It may sound like an excuse, but quite frankly, we just don't have the time or energy right now. I know how important it is to maintain the husband-wife relationship, especially once you become parents. But with little man still so little, still so needy, still so-not-sleeping-through-the-night, we just don't have the capacity to really focus on "us" like we should. Like we would like to.
The problem is, TH still wants to have sex. Like, a lot. And above the fact that I lack the time and energy to accommodate him as much as he would like, I also just don't feel the same level of intimacy that would allow me to want to accommodate him as much as he would like. Put another way, men need sex to feel intimacy, and women need intimacy to want to have sex. It's a cart/horse conundrum.
So I feel like he's been jumping to the sex and neglecting the intimacy that would, in my opinion, lead to the sex if it were taken care of first.
But I care about him and his needs and desires and feelings. So sometimes I throw him a bone (yep . . . intended) just for his sake.
And you know what? After those times when we have sex even though I never ever ever would have initiated it on my own, those times when I'd rather be sleeping or doing laundry or getting 10 glorious minutes to myself . . . or even *gasp* sitting and talking with him and working on our intimacy . . . even after those times, I actually do end up feeling somewhat more like a husband and wife.
Because often times doing the action brings about the desired emotion.
Kinda like biting the pencil actually ends up cheering you up.
This isn't to say that I'm abandoning my stance of wanting, of needing, to work on our intimacy. I will forever and ever believe that a husband and wife who are emotionally connected will have better and more frequent sex than those who aren't. But in times when that's not happening, it's good to remember that biting the pencil can help get you there, too.
I once heard a valuable tidbit that I've kept with me every day since then (and anything that I still remember these days, after two kids' worth of sleep deprivation, MUST be important): If you're in a bad mood, bite a pencil. Sideways. Hold it in your mouth. The muscles it takes to do so mimic the act of smiling, and your mood will actually improve because your body (muscles) are "smiling." (or your mood will improve because you'll realize you look like a goober sitting there with a pencil clenched between your teeth. Whatevs.)
Having a newborn is hard on any marriage. Truth. Having a newborn while also having a toddler is haaarrrdddd on any marriage. We've actually done a bang-up job of not fighting with each other when mental and physical exhaustion get the best of us. Our relationship hasn't really suffered. If anything, I think I appreciate TH more now as a parent than I did even before. I couldn't have asked for a better parenting partner. He's involved. He's loving. He's involved. He's devoted. He's involved. (Did I already mention that he's involved?)
So, our relationship as parents has actually grown.
But our relationship outside of our parenting roles? That old relationship? The one that is just about him and me, husband and wife?
Practically nonexistant.
It's not that we're bad . . . in fact, like I said, overall we're actually really good. But we're good as our parent-role, not necessarily as our husband-wife role.
It may sound like an excuse, but quite frankly, we just don't have the time or energy right now. I know how important it is to maintain the husband-wife relationship, especially once you become parents. But with little man still so little, still so needy, still so-not-sleeping-through-the-night, we just don't have the capacity to really focus on "us" like we should. Like we would like to.
The problem is, TH still wants to have sex. Like, a lot. And above the fact that I lack the time and energy to accommodate him as much as he would like, I also just don't feel the same level of intimacy that would allow me to want to accommodate him as much as he would like. Put another way, men need sex to feel intimacy, and women need intimacy to want to have sex. It's a cart/horse conundrum.
So I feel like he's been jumping to the sex and neglecting the intimacy that would, in my opinion, lead to the sex if it were taken care of first.
But I care about him and his needs and desires and feelings. So sometimes I throw him a bone (yep . . . intended) just for his sake.
And you know what? After those times when we have sex even though I never ever ever would have initiated it on my own, those times when I'd rather be sleeping or doing laundry or getting 10 glorious minutes to myself . . . or even *gasp* sitting and talking with him and working on our intimacy . . . even after those times, I actually do end up feeling somewhat more like a husband and wife.
Because often times doing the action brings about the desired emotion.
Kinda like biting the pencil actually ends up cheering you up.
This isn't to say that I'm abandoning my stance of wanting, of needing, to work on our intimacy. I will forever and ever believe that a husband and wife who are emotionally connected will have better and more frequent sex than those who aren't. But in times when that's not happening, it's good to remember that biting the pencil can help get you there, too.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Two.
Baby girl,
Happy 2nd birthday! I went to bed last night not quite able to believe that you were about to turn two years old, and when I woke up this morning, the feeling had not subsided. Two years old. I can't believe it's been two whole years since the first time I held you in my arms. I can't believe how much you have grown and changed in the last two years. I can't believe how happy you've made me, how delightful you are, how you light up the lives of everyone you encounter.
If I thought the first year was amazing with all its milestones and growth, the second year was even more awesome. You've gone from a crawling, two-or-three words baby to a running, chattering little kid. In fact, your run is one of my favorite things to watch. It's a bouncy little trot that makes all the curls on your head bob as you bounce up to hug me. You get a very serious look on your face when you're trying to run fast. Your fast speed is pretty much the exact same as your regular speed, but the look of concentration is priceless and you look back at me from across the room as if to say, "Wow, mom, did you see that? THAT was fast."
You are totally off the charts with your verbal skills. You say things like, "I already ate a bite of turkey" when I ask you to eat some meat and "Hmmm . . . let's see . . . " when I ask you to pick if you want one thing or another, and "We're going to see Dr. Cepeda right this minute!" when we're on the way to your doctor's office. You know how to say something using other words when I'm not able to understand something you're telling me. You already know how to grasp the concept of time and are using words like yesterday, today, tomorrow, and this (or next) weekend correctly. You hold conversations with me. Like, actual, legitimate conversations. One of my most favorite things to do is to have conversations with you. I love to hear the way your mind works. I love the sound of your voice.
You use your verbal skills to good use already. You are our little negotiator. I'll never forget one afternoon as I listened in on a diaper change your dad was trying to wrangle you into. You started by telling him, "No Ali dirty diaper. DADDY dirty diaper," and ended with another tack, "No big poop! Teeny tiny poop! No change diaper for teeny tiny poop!" Your mind is always always always working, and it is fabulous.
One of my favorite memories this year was one afternoon when you told me that your tummy hurt. You were a touch constipated (eating too many bananas!), so I told you that we'd give you some grapes when we got home and they would help your tummy feel better. When we got home, I cut up some grapes for you, and you gently took one, lifted up your shirt, and started rubbing it on your stomach, saying "grapes make Ali's tummy feel better." ADORABLE.
You sing with me in the car. We have a CD of nursery rhymes and songs, and you tell me, "Mommy, sing!" and once I go through two or three songs, you decide to join me and we sing along together all the way home. We even sing the non-words parts of the song. You tell me, "Mommy, sing 'do-do-do'" and you and I will sing "do-do-do-do" to the tune while we wait for the words to come back. It's one of my favorite times of the day.
The rate at which you are learning things now astounds me. You absorb language at an incredible rate. You know all your letters and their sounds, and can sight-read mom, dad, Ali, and Sam. The other day we started watching one of your favorite videos (Numbers Ahoy!), and you started reciting the dialogue right along with the movie. For all characters. You had memorized it. You sing songs on your own, songs like "Mary, Mary" and "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe" and when we read you books at night, you can finish the sentence no matter where we stop.
It's not just letters that you are showing strength with. You can count to 20 already (though you do get tripped up through the teens) and can know what it means--and can answer correctly--when we ask you to count how many of something there are. You are so amazingly smart. I can't wait to see what you do with that intelligence in your life.
You are still our rock star sleeper. You'll sleep around 13 hours at night and usually take a 1-2 hour nap in the afternoon. Our bedtime routine is one of my favorite things to do with you. After your bath, we gather in your room to put on your pjs. You tell whichever of us is not reading to you that night "Good night" and give big hugs and kisses. Then you grab Matt the Monkey and climb into your special chair, and if it's my night, I sit on the floor next to you and read you books. We always read two books--you pick one and I pick one, usually (unless you are feeling particularly opinionated in which two books we read)--and then I scoop you up and reassure you that we'll read more books "after your good nap." (Any sleep time for you is called a "good nap.") Then I give you your bear and piggy (you sleep with all three of your "friends" at night) and I hold you in a cradle hold, just like I did when you were a baby. Then, with you there in my arms and your three friends held in your arms, we go through the list of all the people who love you. We always start with mommy, daddy, and baby Sammy, and then run through all of your grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, great-grandparents, and Icky and Loki, our cats. As I list all the people who love you, you lay quietly in my arms, with a small smile on your face. Then I kiss you goodnight and reassure you one more time that we'll read more books in the morning. (You are a girl who LOVES books. In fact, the night before your birthday party, I told you, "and do you know what's happening tomorrow? We're going to have your birthday party!!" and you said, "And we'll read more books??") I lay you in your crib and cover you up with the "cozy blanket" that you just started asking to sleep with a couple of weeks ago, gently sweep your curls out of your face, and leave the room. I love how easy you are to put to bed for the night and how comfortable you are when you sleep.
Even though you are my big, tall girl (35 inches at 2 years, which is the 80%), you still ride rear-facing in the car. You don't mind one bit (probably because you've never known any different). If you get tired of having your legs bent, you kick them up to the top of the seat in front of you or dangle them over the sides of your chair. You are a fantastic car girl, perfectly content to read books or sing songs or look out the window in a game of car-color I-spy.
You're still a pretty good eater. Though your hands-down favorite is noodles, you also eat bell peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, green beans, sugar snap peas, and any and all fresh fruit. So even though you're not a big meat eater right now, your diet is pretty healthy. Yay! And amazingly enough, I think you might not like chocolate. You had a big bite of chocolate chip in a cookie I shared with you, and you spat it out. Don't worry, baby girl. It's an acquired taste.
Of all the things you amazed me with this year, perhaps the most amazing thing of all was the grace and joy with which I saw you transition from only-child to big sister. In the beginning, you thought there was a baby in mommy's tummy, in daddy's tummy, in Ali's tummy. Cute. Eventually you came to understand that there was a BABY coming, and you were so excited to be a big sister. Then the day came, and when my parents brought you to the hospital to meet baby Sam, you walked right in and asked, "Where's baby Sam?" Then you walked right up to him and stared in wonder. You wanted to touch his cheek and give him a hug. You had the biggest smile on your face. And in the days and weeks to come, you fell immediately and naturally into your big sister role. When Sam would cry, you'd demand, "Where's baby Sammy's milk!?!?" and when he was out of eye-sight, you'd ask, "Where's baby Sammy?" You wanted to make sure he was always taken care of, always remembered. You love giving him big hugs and kisses and are so helpful getting his toys for him. It makes my heart overflow to see you interact with him, to see the tenderness and love that already exists between the two of you.
You are two years old today. Old enough not to be called baby girl anymore, considering you now carry on entire conversations with me. You are your own little person. So far from the baby I held in my arms two years ago today.
Today you asked me to "talk about Ali's birthday" over and over and over again. So I did. I told you about your birthday. I told you that two years ago, we had been waiting to meet you and were so excited. And then right on your due date, you decided to come out! We went to the hospital and waited all day long, and that finally, finally, you were born a very special way. And then your dad and I finally got to meet you and hug you and kiss you and tell you hi. And that we loved you so much from that moment on.
You never got tired of hearing that story. You made me tell it four or five times in a row. And I'll never get tired of telling you that story. Two years ago you made me a mom for the first time. You have taught me everything I know about it. I couldn't have asked for a better, sweeter, more rewarding teacher. You amaze me every day, and I can't wait to spend the next year with you, excitedly witnessing everything that you'll learn next, all the new ways you will impress and amaze us.
I love you more than words could ever describe. More than I ever thought possible. You light up my entire life.
Happy second birthday, sweet pea.
Love,
Mom
Happy 2nd birthday! I went to bed last night not quite able to believe that you were about to turn two years old, and when I woke up this morning, the feeling had not subsided. Two years old. I can't believe it's been two whole years since the first time I held you in my arms. I can't believe how much you have grown and changed in the last two years. I can't believe how happy you've made me, how delightful you are, how you light up the lives of everyone you encounter.
If I thought the first year was amazing with all its milestones and growth, the second year was even more awesome. You've gone from a crawling, two-or-three words baby to a running, chattering little kid. In fact, your run is one of my favorite things to watch. It's a bouncy little trot that makes all the curls on your head bob as you bounce up to hug me. You get a very serious look on your face when you're trying to run fast. Your fast speed is pretty much the exact same as your regular speed, but the look of concentration is priceless and you look back at me from across the room as if to say, "Wow, mom, did you see that? THAT was fast."
You are totally off the charts with your verbal skills. You say things like, "I already ate a bite of turkey" when I ask you to eat some meat and "Hmmm . . . let's see . . . " when I ask you to pick if you want one thing or another, and "We're going to see Dr. Cepeda right this minute!" when we're on the way to your doctor's office. You know how to say something using other words when I'm not able to understand something you're telling me. You already know how to grasp the concept of time and are using words like yesterday, today, tomorrow, and this (or next) weekend correctly. You hold conversations with me. Like, actual, legitimate conversations. One of my most favorite things to do is to have conversations with you. I love to hear the way your mind works. I love the sound of your voice.
You use your verbal skills to good use already. You are our little negotiator. I'll never forget one afternoon as I listened in on a diaper change your dad was trying to wrangle you into. You started by telling him, "No Ali dirty diaper. DADDY dirty diaper," and ended with another tack, "No big poop! Teeny tiny poop! No change diaper for teeny tiny poop!" Your mind is always always always working, and it is fabulous.
One of my favorite memories this year was one afternoon when you told me that your tummy hurt. You were a touch constipated (eating too many bananas!), so I told you that we'd give you some grapes when we got home and they would help your tummy feel better. When we got home, I cut up some grapes for you, and you gently took one, lifted up your shirt, and started rubbing it on your stomach, saying "grapes make Ali's tummy feel better." ADORABLE.
You sing with me in the car. We have a CD of nursery rhymes and songs, and you tell me, "Mommy, sing!" and once I go through two or three songs, you decide to join me and we sing along together all the way home. We even sing the non-words parts of the song. You tell me, "Mommy, sing 'do-do-do'" and you and I will sing "do-do-do-do" to the tune while we wait for the words to come back. It's one of my favorite times of the day.
The rate at which you are learning things now astounds me. You absorb language at an incredible rate. You know all your letters and their sounds, and can sight-read mom, dad, Ali, and Sam. The other day we started watching one of your favorite videos (Numbers Ahoy!), and you started reciting the dialogue right along with the movie. For all characters. You had memorized it. You sing songs on your own, songs like "Mary, Mary" and "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe" and when we read you books at night, you can finish the sentence no matter where we stop.
It's not just letters that you are showing strength with. You can count to 20 already (though you do get tripped up through the teens) and can know what it means--and can answer correctly--when we ask you to count how many of something there are. You are so amazingly smart. I can't wait to see what you do with that intelligence in your life.
You are still our rock star sleeper. You'll sleep around 13 hours at night and usually take a 1-2 hour nap in the afternoon. Our bedtime routine is one of my favorite things to do with you. After your bath, we gather in your room to put on your pjs. You tell whichever of us is not reading to you that night "Good night" and give big hugs and kisses. Then you grab Matt the Monkey and climb into your special chair, and if it's my night, I sit on the floor next to you and read you books. We always read two books--you pick one and I pick one, usually (unless you are feeling particularly opinionated in which two books we read)--and then I scoop you up and reassure you that we'll read more books "after your good nap." (Any sleep time for you is called a "good nap.") Then I give you your bear and piggy (you sleep with all three of your "friends" at night) and I hold you in a cradle hold, just like I did when you were a baby. Then, with you there in my arms and your three friends held in your arms, we go through the list of all the people who love you. We always start with mommy, daddy, and baby Sammy, and then run through all of your grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, great-grandparents, and Icky and Loki, our cats. As I list all the people who love you, you lay quietly in my arms, with a small smile on your face. Then I kiss you goodnight and reassure you one more time that we'll read more books in the morning. (You are a girl who LOVES books. In fact, the night before your birthday party, I told you, "and do you know what's happening tomorrow? We're going to have your birthday party!!" and you said, "And we'll read more books??") I lay you in your crib and cover you up with the "cozy blanket" that you just started asking to sleep with a couple of weeks ago, gently sweep your curls out of your face, and leave the room. I love how easy you are to put to bed for the night and how comfortable you are when you sleep.
Even though you are my big, tall girl (35 inches at 2 years, which is the 80%), you still ride rear-facing in the car. You don't mind one bit (probably because you've never known any different). If you get tired of having your legs bent, you kick them up to the top of the seat in front of you or dangle them over the sides of your chair. You are a fantastic car girl, perfectly content to read books or sing songs or look out the window in a game of car-color I-spy.
You're still a pretty good eater. Though your hands-down favorite is noodles, you also eat bell peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, green beans, sugar snap peas, and any and all fresh fruit. So even though you're not a big meat eater right now, your diet is pretty healthy. Yay! And amazingly enough, I think you might not like chocolate. You had a big bite of chocolate chip in a cookie I shared with you, and you spat it out. Don't worry, baby girl. It's an acquired taste.
Of all the things you amazed me with this year, perhaps the most amazing thing of all was the grace and joy with which I saw you transition from only-child to big sister. In the beginning, you thought there was a baby in mommy's tummy, in daddy's tummy, in Ali's tummy. Cute. Eventually you came to understand that there was a BABY coming, and you were so excited to be a big sister. Then the day came, and when my parents brought you to the hospital to meet baby Sam, you walked right in and asked, "Where's baby Sam?" Then you walked right up to him and stared in wonder. You wanted to touch his cheek and give him a hug. You had the biggest smile on your face. And in the days and weeks to come, you fell immediately and naturally into your big sister role. When Sam would cry, you'd demand, "Where's baby Sammy's milk!?!?" and when he was out of eye-sight, you'd ask, "Where's baby Sammy?" You wanted to make sure he was always taken care of, always remembered. You love giving him big hugs and kisses and are so helpful getting his toys for him. It makes my heart overflow to see you interact with him, to see the tenderness and love that already exists between the two of you.
You are two years old today. Old enough not to be called baby girl anymore, considering you now carry on entire conversations with me. You are your own little person. So far from the baby I held in my arms two years ago today.
Today you asked me to "talk about Ali's birthday" over and over and over again. So I did. I told you about your birthday. I told you that two years ago, we had been waiting to meet you and were so excited. And then right on your due date, you decided to come out! We went to the hospital and waited all day long, and that finally, finally, you were born a very special way. And then your dad and I finally got to meet you and hug you and kiss you and tell you hi. And that we loved you so much from that moment on.
You never got tired of hearing that story. You made me tell it four or five times in a row. And I'll never get tired of telling you that story. Two years ago you made me a mom for the first time. You have taught me everything I know about it. I couldn't have asked for a better, sweeter, more rewarding teacher. You amaze me every day, and I can't wait to spend the next year with you, excitedly witnessing everything that you'll learn next, all the new ways you will impress and amaze us.
I love you more than words could ever describe. More than I ever thought possible. You light up my entire life.
Happy second birthday, sweet pea.
Love,
Mom
Friday, September 9, 2011
Learning to love someone new
(I wrote this on 7/11/11 and never published it. I was worried it wasn't coherent--that was back in the haze of having a true newborn. But after reading it again, I don't have anything I want to change. So here it is.)
I never had the explosion-of-love-when-she-was-born feeling with my daughter. I was exhausted. Drugged. Scared. I remember feeling relief and happiness, but the love-bomb thing never happened. It took me months to get my anxiety under control, to actually relax enough with her to trust myself and start enjoying motherhood.
With my son, I got the love-bomb. It's impossible to describe the feelings that engulfed me when he was placed on my stomach for me to love on while we waited for his cord to stop pulsing. I finally understood why people say the day your child is born is the most amazing day of your life.
I was worried, at first, that my less-than-ideal experience the first time around and my ideal experience the second time around would create problems for me. I once read a blog by a mother who had much the same experiences as I did, and she confessed to loving her son more. I was scared that my own emotions would follow suit. Scared that my great birth experience, my love-bomb, my immediate comfort with my son, how easy he's been, what an early, sweet smiler he was, would all lead me to creating a bond with him that was stronger than the one I have with my daughter, a bond born in adversity and wrought over months of struggling with my own emotions and fears.
I shouldn't have worried.
I was singing to Little Man the other day, as I do every day. He was smiling and cooing and I was loving life. And then I started to sing him "You Are My Sunshine" and immediately it felt . . . wrong. I suddenly felt like I was cheating on Baby Girl. That was our song. SHE was my sunshine, had been my sunshine for nearly two years now. And here I was, telling my son that he was my sunshine, my only sunshine, and it just felt all wrong.
And then I thought about how much I miss my girl all day, every day. How much I miss our time together. How I miss getting her up and ready in the mornings. How I long to see her smile when she walks in the door with her dad at the end of the day. How my very favorite thing in the entire world is her funny little bouncing trot as she runs up to me to hug me. How I don't mind at all when she demands that I carry her while I try to make dinner one-handed, or when she asks me to read her a book during dinner, because we have so little time now, just the two of us, that these moments that connect us are even more precious to me than ever before.
I realized that my love for my son may have started more easily, but that my love for my daughter was so special, so intense, so thick and strong after nearly two years of time together, that the two simply don't compare.
I have no doubt that my feelings for my son will one day reach the same intensity. It takes time for people to learn each other, for relationships to form. But I no longer worry that the different ways in which my relationships with my kids began is going to have any affect whatsoever on my relationships with them in general.
It's a strange thing to develop that incredibly special mother-child relationship with a new child. What was once sacred is now being replicated, shared with another. But what I'm realizing is that in reality, it's not. I'm not sharing or replicating the relationship I have with my daughter with my son. I will never--could never--replicate that relationship with anyone. It will forever and ever remain sacred. I am building a new, different relationship with my son that will, in the same way, be wholly unique and sacred.
There are some things that siblings must share. Time. Attention. Toys. But there are other things that will forever and ever remain theirs alone. My feelings for my son don't touch my feelings for my daughter. And my feelings for my son are likewise growing on their own, untouched by others. My kids will forever and ever each have their own unique relationship with me.
I never had the explosion-of-love-when-she-was-born feeling with my daughter. I was exhausted. Drugged. Scared. I remember feeling relief and happiness, but the love-bomb thing never happened. It took me months to get my anxiety under control, to actually relax enough with her to trust myself and start enjoying motherhood.
With my son, I got the love-bomb. It's impossible to describe the feelings that engulfed me when he was placed on my stomach for me to love on while we waited for his cord to stop pulsing. I finally understood why people say the day your child is born is the most amazing day of your life.
I was worried, at first, that my less-than-ideal experience the first time around and my ideal experience the second time around would create problems for me. I once read a blog by a mother who had much the same experiences as I did, and she confessed to loving her son more. I was scared that my own emotions would follow suit. Scared that my great birth experience, my love-bomb, my immediate comfort with my son, how easy he's been, what an early, sweet smiler he was, would all lead me to creating a bond with him that was stronger than the one I have with my daughter, a bond born in adversity and wrought over months of struggling with my own emotions and fears.
I shouldn't have worried.
I was singing to Little Man the other day, as I do every day. He was smiling and cooing and I was loving life. And then I started to sing him "You Are My Sunshine" and immediately it felt . . . wrong. I suddenly felt like I was cheating on Baby Girl. That was our song. SHE was my sunshine, had been my sunshine for nearly two years now. And here I was, telling my son that he was my sunshine, my only sunshine, and it just felt all wrong.
And then I thought about how much I miss my girl all day, every day. How much I miss our time together. How I miss getting her up and ready in the mornings. How I long to see her smile when she walks in the door with her dad at the end of the day. How my very favorite thing in the entire world is her funny little bouncing trot as she runs up to me to hug me. How I don't mind at all when she demands that I carry her while I try to make dinner one-handed, or when she asks me to read her a book during dinner, because we have so little time now, just the two of us, that these moments that connect us are even more precious to me than ever before.
I realized that my love for my son may have started more easily, but that my love for my daughter was so special, so intense, so thick and strong after nearly two years of time together, that the two simply don't compare.
I have no doubt that my feelings for my son will one day reach the same intensity. It takes time for people to learn each other, for relationships to form. But I no longer worry that the different ways in which my relationships with my kids began is going to have any affect whatsoever on my relationships with them in general.
It's a strange thing to develop that incredibly special mother-child relationship with a new child. What was once sacred is now being replicated, shared with another. But what I'm realizing is that in reality, it's not. I'm not sharing or replicating the relationship I have with my daughter with my son. I will never--could never--replicate that relationship with anyone. It will forever and ever remain sacred. I am building a new, different relationship with my son that will, in the same way, be wholly unique and sacred.
There are some things that siblings must share. Time. Attention. Toys. But there are other things that will forever and ever remain theirs alone. My feelings for my son don't touch my feelings for my daughter. And my feelings for my son are likewise growing on their own, untouched by others. My kids will forever and ever each have their own unique relationship with me.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
1 Year
A year ago I saw this:
And today that little, light second line has turned into this:
What an incredible year. I didn't know if we were ready, but I wouldn't change a single thing.
And today that little, light second line has turned into this:
What an incredible year. I didn't know if we were ready, but I wouldn't change a single thing.
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