Wow, it's been awhile since I've posted. I guess I've been busy, although you can't tell it by my house. I swear, by the time I do some basic maintenance it's after 5 and I'm exhausted. I've come to realize if I get the dishes washed, a load or two of laundry done, and one other tiny project accomplished like cleaning off the coffee table, I've had a productive day. Where does the time go?
Well, mostly to a very cute, very chubby baby. She just eats time... maybe that's why she's so fat! She's around 20 pounds now; I'm sure she's going to seem like a giant compared to the Lump (gotta come up with something better than that!) when she gets here. I can't even imagine what life's going to be like with two. Someone today asked, and I get this question a lot, how are you going to do it? My answer these days is pretty standardized: I don't know, I'll just do it. I'm certainly not the only one with children less than a year apart; there's quite a few of us baby bunchers out there. I guess because they're not in the situation, they expect it to be totally overwhelming. And I'm sure I'll have those days, but I'm blessed with being pretty oblivious to the difficulties right now. I'll figure out a way. What choice do I have; give one away?
That brings to mind a book I just finished, The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton. I really enjoyed it, which was surprising since I read it on the recommendation of a pregnancy birth board book club. They typically suggest trash (50 Shades of Gray anyone?), but this was certainly not trash; fluff, maybe, but good fluff. A woman in the story gives away her baby, basically acting as a surrogate mother. A young friend, who had recently lost her baby by miscarriage, told her, you can't just give it away. You can't just stop being a mother. It changes you. And it did. She was described as acting as if she had lost some part of herself afterwards, although no one knew why because no one realized she'd been a surrogate.
Before Ladybug was born, I wouldn't have fully understood that. But now, I wonder how true that is. I know it'd be true in my case. Obviously people give up babies for adoption, and act as surrogates, but that kind of idea does explain why mothers who had been planning on giving up their child give birth and suddenly change their mind. I can't imagine giving up a child whom I had cared for in the womb. While I don't feel as attached to the Lump as I did to Ladybug before she was born, I also have 13 more weeks to become more attached, especially since I can now watch her kicks and rolls in addition to feeling them. I'm not as attached simply because I don't talk and sing exclusively to her like I did her sister, because I spend my time talking to and playing with her sister. I did pick up a library book and think, this is way too many words for Ladybug to sit through but I'll read it to the Lump.
I also told the Mechanic while talking about friends who don't have children, they don't really realize what they're missing. Oh, they may express regret about not having kids, or maybe they don't. But you can't explain to someone what being a mom is like. I told him, I can't even explain to you what it's like. It's beyond words. It's incredible. Yes, overwhelming when I think of the grand scheme of things. But overwhelming in a good way when I kiss chubby toes and fat cheeks, and tickle her and make her laugh, and walk in the room and her say "mamama" when she sees me (yes, I'm special; I'm more than a "mama," I'm a "mamama!"), and realize she's mine. There's a bond there unlike any other relationship, and I of all people know what it's like for that relationship to be lacking. That's part of why my relationship with Ladybug, and her sister, is so special to me; I want to love them in a way that they'll understand the allusions to a mother's love in the Bible. And I'll have shortcomings; I'm already doing things like giving Ladybug popcicles that I said I wouldn't do! I'm sure there will be far greater mistakes made. I just hope that when their heart is breaking and tears start spilling down their cheeks, that they'll know they can reach and cry "mamama" and I'll be there to love them.