It's Better the Second time around/ How does anybody ever STOP having babies?
I find so much more joy in parenting the second time around. Mostly because I'm stressing out less and . . . well . . I've done this all before. Still there are overwhelming times (maybe more than last time) and there is more to do, with having another little munchkin to feed, bathe, change, play with, cuddle, clean up after, and teach-- yet I am finding more satisfaction while just simply holding Mariana. I really love looking into her eyes, talking to her with my stares and smiles. I could do it for hours (or until she fusses, I guess).
Maybe it's because I realize how quickly she will grow out of this "phase", and how quickly all the "phases" are going already with Myah. I remember being so excited for Myah to roll, sit, crawl, eat solid foods, cut teeth, walk, talk, etc. This time I could let all of this slow down by like 5 times--at least. Which brings me to the question I've been asking myself a lot these days . . . How does anyone ever STOP having babies? I know it will happen, (who knows, I could be done now) but the absolute miraculousness of pregnancy and birth and having an actual human being come from your own flesh and blood has been so profoundly impacting me for the last three and a half weeks I can hardly contain it. I am amazed at how my heart has grown and changed, and am finding myself to be incredibly thankful to God for His creation, and for birth. I am really not sure how anyone could go through a pregnancy and raise a child, and not believe in God's intentional design and plan.
Speaking of my heart growing, a friend of mine, Alix, who I met through ECFE classes with Myah, sent me this poem she was forwarded when she had her second child. It is written perfectly. I still find us in the "guilty"/resentment stage, but this poem reminds me that soon Myah will be able to embrace Mariana as a wonderful part of our family...
Loving Two
I walk along holding your 2-year-old hand, basking in the glow of our magical relationship.
Suddenly I feel a kick from within, as if to remind me that our time alone is limited.
And I wonder: how could I ever love another child as I love you?
Then he is born, and I watch you.
I watch the pain you feel at having to share me as you've never shared me before.
I hear you telling me in your own way, "Please love only me."
And I hear myself telling you in mine, "I can't," knowing, in fact, that I never can again.
You cry. I cry with you.
I almost see our new baby as an intruder on the precious relationship we once shared.
A relationship we can never quite have again.
But then, barely noticing, I find myself attached to that new being, and feeling almost guilty.
I'm afraid to let you see me enjoying him -- as though I am betraying you.
But then I notice your resentment change, first to curiosity, then to protectiveness, finally to genuine affection.
More days pass, and we are settling into a new routine.
The memory of days with just the two of us is fading fast.
But something else is replacing those wonderful times we shared, just we two.
There are new times -- only now, we are three.
I watch the love between you grow, the way you look at each other, touch each other.
I watch how he adores you -- as I have for so long.
I see how excited you are by each of his new accomplishments.
And I begin to realize that I haven't taken something from you, I've given something to you.
I notice that I am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both of you.
I find that my love for each of you is as different as you are, but equally strong.
And my question is finally answered, to my amazement.
Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you -- only differently.
And although I realize that you may have to share my time, I now know you'll never share my love.
There's enough of that for both of you -- you each have your own supply.
I love you -- both.
And I thank you both for blessing my life.
Author Unknown
Maybe it's because I realize how quickly she will grow out of this "phase", and how quickly all the "phases" are going already with Myah. I remember being so excited for Myah to roll, sit, crawl, eat solid foods, cut teeth, walk, talk, etc. This time I could let all of this slow down by like 5 times--at least. Which brings me to the question I've been asking myself a lot these days . . . How does anyone ever STOP having babies? I know it will happen, (who knows, I could be done now) but the absolute miraculousness of pregnancy and birth and having an actual human being come from your own flesh and blood has been so profoundly impacting me for the last three and a half weeks I can hardly contain it. I am amazed at how my heart has grown and changed, and am finding myself to be incredibly thankful to God for His creation, and for birth. I am really not sure how anyone could go through a pregnancy and raise a child, and not believe in God's intentional design and plan.
Speaking of my heart growing, a friend of mine, Alix, who I met through ECFE classes with Myah, sent me this poem she was forwarded when she had her second child. It is written perfectly. I still find us in the "guilty"/resentment stage, but this poem reminds me that soon Myah will be able to embrace Mariana as a wonderful part of our family...
Loving Two
I walk along holding your 2-year-old hand, basking in the glow of our magical relationship.
Suddenly I feel a kick from within, as if to remind me that our time alone is limited.
And I wonder: how could I ever love another child as I love you?
Then he is born, and I watch you.
I watch the pain you feel at having to share me as you've never shared me before.
I hear you telling me in your own way, "Please love only me."
And I hear myself telling you in mine, "I can't," knowing, in fact, that I never can again.
You cry. I cry with you.
I almost see our new baby as an intruder on the precious relationship we once shared.
A relationship we can never quite have again.
But then, barely noticing, I find myself attached to that new being, and feeling almost guilty.
I'm afraid to let you see me enjoying him -- as though I am betraying you.
But then I notice your resentment change, first to curiosity, then to protectiveness, finally to genuine affection.
More days pass, and we are settling into a new routine.
The memory of days with just the two of us is fading fast.
But something else is replacing those wonderful times we shared, just we two.
There are new times -- only now, we are three.
I watch the love between you grow, the way you look at each other, touch each other.
I watch how he adores you -- as I have for so long.
I see how excited you are by each of his new accomplishments.
And I begin to realize that I haven't taken something from you, I've given something to you.
I notice that I am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both of you.
I find that my love for each of you is as different as you are, but equally strong.
And my question is finally answered, to my amazement.
Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you -- only differently.
And although I realize that you may have to share my time, I now know you'll never share my love.
There's enough of that for both of you -- you each have your own supply.
I love you -- both.
And I thank you both for blessing my life.
Author Unknown
Hey Dena:) Just wanted to say thanks for sharing words from your mother's heart. So excited for your family of four..to experience all that God has in store for you as you celebrate each phase and move forward on the adventure that is parenting and family life! Love ya girl, Aubry:)
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