Tomorrow I reach the 33rd week of being pregnant with my second child. Knowing that, in under two months, I’ll be starting the newborn parent journey all over again carries a mixed bag of emotions that are likely at least partially responsible for recently bursting into tears while walking down the street on a beautiful fall day at 4 in the afternoon. As it turns out, all the things they say about awaiting your second baby are true. On the aforementioned walk, I was huffing and puffing along, admiring the beautiful colours of the leaves and revelling in the perfect temperatures, when all of a sudden the realization that my baby will only be my baby (or, at the very least, only be my only baby) for a little while longer was just a little more than I could handle. For two years, it’s been just the three of us, and even though Beckett is now two and we’re learning a whole new rhythm of life with a very busy toddler, I feel like I know our identity as a family of three. It’s far from perfect and it’s definitely not easy, but it’s familiar. Bringing someone new into the fold is exciting, but also really kind of scary.
Before Beckett was born, I could never picture myself as a boy mom. I couldn’t picture myself being messy or playing with trains or naming superheroes or shrugging defeatedly while my child ate dirt after the third time of being told not to. I couldn’t imagine having a bond with a little boy the way I would with my own little mini me. And now, I can hardly imagine the opposite. I don’t know how to braid a tiny head of hair or pick the perfect outfit that still tells the world my daughter is a strong independent woman even though she’s wearing a sparkly tutu. I have never liked dancing but think I should probably put my daughter in some sort of lessons so she won’t be as awkward as me at weddings or bar mitzvhasahs or whatever dance-related scenarios she may find thrust upon her when she gets older. I wonder what loving a little girl will look like and feel like because I only know the ways I’ve loved my son, this will remain a mystery until I actually meet her.
I don’t doubt that I’ll have enough love to share with two kids, but I can’t imagine what that will look like either. I hope that my son will always know that he is special and important to me and that I’m proud of him. I hope he’ll never feel like he’s getting the love that’s left over from his sister. I hope he doesn’t feel like he’s being replaced. I’ve heard from so many parents that watching the bond between siblings is such an incredible gift, and I know that Beckett will love his baby sister, but just the thought of all of this makes me emotional nonetheless.
I’m excited to be done being pregnant. I’m excited to have more than 4 options for outfits to wear, and look forward to wearing a winter jacket that actually zips shut. I can’t wait to be able to roll over in bed without wincing in pain and look forward to the day when I no longer have to sit down to put on my underwear (which are pretty much all too small at this point). I’m tired of gaining weight like crazy and watching my face getting rounder and rounder each time I in the mirror. I look forward to not getting out of breath from tying up my shoes or reassuring strangers that no, I am not at risk of giving birth in the middle of Home Depot. I know my husband will be thankful when the snoring subsides.
But I also know that (if I stick to my current plan) this is likely to be the last time I do this as well. It’s probably the last time I’ll have the excitement of learning that there is a new life inside of me and feeling that life for the very first time. It’s probably the last time I’ll watch my belly move as my baby stretches and flips to find a more comfortable place to sleep. It’s probably the last time I’ll wonder and plan and dream about someone I haven’t yet met. It’s probably the last time I’ll spend hours pinning nursery ideas and baby outfits trying to find the perfect name. There are so many lasts and I know I should take the time to recognize and cherish each one, so I will try.
There are only 7 weeks to go and although I find myself counting down the days until we meet our girl (didn’t I write a post about trying not to do that? Yeesh.), I also find myself feeling overwhelmed at all of the things I need/want to do before she arrives. So, wish me luck! We’ll see what I can accomplish in the next 7 weeks/49 days/1,176 hours…you know… not that I’m counting.
xox k
THE ASPIRING SOMETHING 