Every morning I promise myself I’m going to write a new post and every morning I’ve blown it off. Since the last post I slept through New Year’s Eve for the first time since I was a kid, left Georgia and my family, spent one last night with the in-laws in Winston-Salem, made the 11 hour trip home in 10.5 hours, and have done nothing of note since arriving back in Syracuse. And every day I’ve thought about writing something different. I haven’t because I hate the beginning of the year and I’m wallowing a bit.
It isn’t just the beginning of the New Year I hate, it’s the beginning of everything. Or more specifically the ending. Or even more specifically change. For example, I was so scared and unwilling to become a mother when I was pregnant with T. My life felt completely over. Couldn’t have been more wrong about that one. I guess the lesson is it is pretty stupid for me to feel so low about the New Year.
But Syracuse feels mighty bleak in January. After so much time with the family in the Fall it feels like I won’t see them for so long (I’m still not used to how important it is for me to have T around them). And for some reason I’m pretty sure all of my friends hate me and think I’m a terrible person. I spend a lot of time constructing elaborate reasons in my head why people don’t call back, or write back but while the specifics change the bottom line is always the same; they’ve decided I’m a useless person.
It’s a stupid, self pitying, indulgent place to go. And it’s also all stuff I’ve talked about before, so it’s repetitive and rather boring. But it ties in a bit with another thing I’ve been feeling. Since we are trying for another kid I’ve been thinking a lot about what it will be like if I manage to carry a baby to term. I don’t understand how I could possibly love another baby as much as I love T. It just doesn’t make sense to me. But before T was around I couldn’t imagine loving a child at all. And the reality is loving him has made me love Z so much more, and even my parents more because I understand a bit more about them. So if I’m lucky enough to have another baby, I know in my head that the love will come. But knowing it in my head and really feeling it are two different things.
I look at other moms who have more than one kid and I am fascinated by how they must feel. So to my friends with more than one child, please let me in on the secret. How does it feel to have that second baby put in your arms? How does it feel to have both children in the same room? Is it different than you thought it would be?
My guy on Christmas morning.
Snuggling in Z's favorite gift, the awesome Tauntaun sleeping bag.
As always, the amazing pictures by Ellie Leonardsmith.