1,2,3

Pregnant for the first time.  This is scary.  I am counting the days and tracking my progress with daily e-mail updates on baby in utero.  I count kicks excessively and drink orange juice and lie down incessantly.  I buy the crib set with ladybugs on it.  And lady bug everything.  We are coordinated.  I go into labour.  I think I will die and ask the doctor if I am about to.  I live.  I hold my precious firstborn.  A huge relief overcomes me until I start charting the pees and the poops on the form they give me.  Has she had enough?  Is she the right size?  I am in shock when the nurse tells me to feed the baby every 3 hours, even at night. But I am totally in love.  If she cries or whimpers or, well, blinks, she is scooped up immediately for hugs and kisses and comforts.  I write about her, consume myself in her and eventually stop counting the fecal matter.  I nurse her to sleep, rock her to calmness.  

And then it happens again.  Two lines on the stick.  Two distinct lines.  I’m inhabited yet again.  I spend the next months wondering how I will divide my love.  How I can every love another little one as much as the first.  Worrying about how I will divide my attention - after all, isn’t a baby supposed to get all of my attention?  I go in labour again.  I frighten the poor nursing intern on observation.  I traumatize my husband.  But I have a beautiful baby boy who I am instantly in love with just as much as the first.  And my love for the first remains the same, or maybe even more.  I naturally wake up to feed the baby.  3 hours seems like a good stretch.  We adjust to life with family of four.  I worry about treating them fairly, equally.  I concern about holding enough?  Too much?  First one neglected?  Balance is difficult to achieve.

And then she came along.  The third.  I pass through pregnancy in what seems to be full speed.  No time or mental energy to track progress or count days.  She will come when she comes.  And when she does come, I remember that I won’t die and I inspire the intern nurse instead of encourage childlessness.  I can handle this.  Somehow, balance seems to come a little easier.  Sure, the older two are getting much less attention, but that is ok.  They are stepping up to the plate. Happy to help.  Encouraged to play together.  Passing with flying colours.  Currently, I hear them in the living, making a beautiful mess.  Going on a plane trip to Hawaii and taking Lighteen McQueen and Baby Theresa.  Chatting together.  Thriving together.  Letting us figure out this whole new baby thing yet again.  Big sister is always willing to stop what she is doing (even if it is coveted Leap Pad time) and hold.  “Oh I would love to.  My pleasure.”   And you, baby?  I hold you just as much, love you fully the same.  I spoil you with affection.  And as I look at your precious trusting little face, I remember that it will all be ok.  You’ll poop enough.  You’ll receive enough love.   And we will grow together.