Tonight I stumbled across something I wrote a year ago.
Here it is.*
October 9, 2008
This time I am crying more. And I think it is because I know what I’m getting into. Not that this is about the dreary life of a new mother with the late night feedings and the diaper changes, although I am less fanciful about what it will mean to have a baby than I was the first time.
But the first time, I didn’t cry.
I cry now because I know how much I can love. I cried when I got the call that said “it worked.” I cried when I saw the little flickering heartbeat for the first time, and again two weeks later when I saw my olive sized baby wiggly around. The first time, if I cried – it was as much from relief as joy. Relief that I wasn’t infertile anymore. This time, as I watched that little gummy bear kick and wave on the ultrasound screen, I already loved her. Because of the first time, I know what it feels like to love her.
The first time, I looked forward to loving my child;, but it took awhile to move from loving the idea of a child to loving that child. This time I instantly love this specific child. My baby. Our baby.
Meg.
*I did some editing - I had to. I had written "him" in a lot of places. So much for mothers intuition. And of course, I added the last word.
