Less sleep, less time, but a whole lot of love
Dear Internet,
I've been harboring another secret from you. As much as I wanted to tell you, I kept it to myself just a bit longer--just so I could cherish the moment. Or maybe wither in insurmountable terror at the prospect of two. You see, I'm pregnant.
Don't misread me. I am delightfully happy. In fact, one might say delirious. I can't wait to hold this new child--breath in it's new scent. Hold the child to my chest and listen to it breath with me, giggle at its first foggy glances at the world, and to watch my husband well up with pride and awe at another child--our child--ready to share the world with us.
But, as I was with my first child, I am terrified for what this means. How does one handle more than one child? The again sleepless nights? Torn and worn breastfeeding breasts? The "acting out" of child number one? The endless nights of nursing? And the family outrageousness that always occurs with the arrival of another grandchild?
I am afraid of the change in my personality that is inevitably going to occur (one can only take so few hours of sleep). Of the even LESS time I'll have to write (or blog or God forbid, go to the bathroom without an audience). And I am even more afraid than I was last time, that this might change me. Change me into the mother I didn't want to be--the distracted, grumpy, mumbling, and most of the time unhappy mom--the one I swore I would not become.
It's a weird thing--pregnancy and motherhood. I want it more than anything, but it scares the shit out of me. Still with the first kit that has miraculously survived the first 3.75 years--now, I'm entrusting another little being into my care. Amazing.
Let's hope I keep my mumbling self above water just enough that I stay sane. And let's hope this kiddo is everything I want it to become--and then some! I've surprised myself with number 1--so maybe I'll get lucky with number 2 too.
Love,
Writing Mom
I've been harboring another secret from you. As much as I wanted to tell you, I kept it to myself just a bit longer--just so I could cherish the moment. Or maybe wither in insurmountable terror at the prospect of two. You see, I'm pregnant.
Don't misread me. I am delightfully happy. In fact, one might say delirious. I can't wait to hold this new child--breath in it's new scent. Hold the child to my chest and listen to it breath with me, giggle at its first foggy glances at the world, and to watch my husband well up with pride and awe at another child--our child--ready to share the world with us.
But, as I was with my first child, I am terrified for what this means. How does one handle more than one child? The again sleepless nights? Torn and worn breastfeeding breasts? The "acting out" of child number one? The endless nights of nursing? And the family outrageousness that always occurs with the arrival of another grandchild?
I am afraid of the change in my personality that is inevitably going to occur (one can only take so few hours of sleep). Of the even LESS time I'll have to write (or blog or God forbid, go to the bathroom without an audience). And I am even more afraid than I was last time, that this might change me. Change me into the mother I didn't want to be--the distracted, grumpy, mumbling, and most of the time unhappy mom--the one I swore I would not become.
It's a weird thing--pregnancy and motherhood. I want it more than anything, but it scares the shit out of me. Still with the first kit that has miraculously survived the first 3.75 years--now, I'm entrusting another little being into my care. Amazing.
Let's hope I keep my mumbling self above water just enough that I stay sane. And let's hope this kiddo is everything I want it to become--and then some! I've surprised myself with number 1--so maybe I'll get lucky with number 2 too.
Love,
Writing Mom
