I love ‘em.
Cypher is the snuggliest, most adorable little man on the planet. His dad isn’t bad, either.
Archive | February, 2012
Ready, Set, Let Go…
8 FebHere we are, February 8, 2012. We are about to have a baby– again. What a surreal experience this is, especially compared with the first time around.
My sister-in-law, Amber, shared this on Facebook a few days ago. It’s so poignant, and very accurately reflects the way I felt when we had Fay.
Here is an excerpt:
The earth shakes when the doctor places your firstborn in your arms. Your love for him is colored by terror because you are positive that he is going to die with each passing minute. You bring him home understanding that the Universe has made a mistake, that someone more qualified, more motherly will show up to retrieve him soon. So while you wait, you play house for awhile. You hold him with trembling, clutching, sweaty hands. You still do. You do not trust that he will be able to navigate his world. You eye his doctors, his playmates, his teachers, even his grandparents with great suspicion. Will they be gentle enough with him? He is so sensitive.
What you really mean is: I am so sensitive. I’m like Lazarus, fresh from the tomb, eyes burning from the sun’s brightness. I can’t handle the ferocity and fragility of this new love. Please be careful with us.
You think if you just hold his hand tight enough, read the right books, choose the right foods, choose the right schools … if you just hold your breath forever … it’ll be okay. You’re not sure what that is anymore. Maybe okay means you’ll succeed at keeping him and the world apart forever. Maybe it just means that you’ll both survive this love, this love so intense it threatens to consume you both like a fire.
I have already read this, and again it brings tears to my eyes. It’s true. From the moment Fable was born, I have been so sensitive. Not in the weepy, sentimental way (though I have grown much more tenderhearted over the years). I’m sensitive in the way that every little move Fable makes touches me somehow. My nerves are all exposed when it comes to her. I am wounded by being her mother. I live in a constant state of injury, which brings me to life and also threatens to kill me (especially on those nights when she decides sleep is for the weak).
Today, I’m conflicted. My emotions are rather close to the surface. I’m dazed. I pick up dishes and don’t know what to do with them. I start to fold clothes and find myself cleaning the bathroom instead. I’m restless and tired at the same time. I’m sad and I’m elated.
Today, I’m reminded of the ferocity and power of my love for my daughter, while preparing to welcome my son into the world. I’m in early labor with our second baby. How can that possibly be? Fable was just born, wasn’t she?
Today is an emotional day. I have never come back down from that terrifying ledge. It doesn’t matter that our baby girl is now a running, screaming, playing toddler in all her toddler glory. I have never lost that sense of wonder and reverence and utter fright; I have never recovered.
To the outside world, we go about our business as though everything has fit together again. We seem to have adjusted. We go to the grocery store and pick out produce and I let my sticky child holler and wave at people, and our lives seem perfectly ordinary. But nothing is ordinary. The first time I saw her, my breath caught in my throat. Just as any new mother clutching her tiny infant can attest, I felt crushed by the weight of my love for her. That has never changed.
Our lives are fracturing yet again. Like bones and tectonic plates shifting to make more room in the world. We will learn how to love Fable fiercely and to hold her tightly, but to let something of her go, as well. It’s a paradox I don’t understand yet, but soon enough, we’ll learn the lesson.
And I am relieved, friends. I am relieved that there is hope for me; that by dividing my time and attention and self, I might regain some sense of balance. My hope is that, as the author says, by holding my second child, I might become human again. My hope and my fear is that I will back off of this ledge. Again, we have the paradox. I expect the love in our home to grow exponentially, but I expect the intensity of those flames to wane a bit by necessity.
So you see why I’m emotional today. Why tears spring to my eyes so readily. Cypher is coming, and we are ready to love him. And we are not ready to love him. But mostly, I cannot wait to hold him.
