On the day you were born, I was petrified. Excited. Unprepared. I felt like a total fraud. At 38 weeks, I thought some secret Momma-knowledge had bypassed me. That I would drop you the instant you were handed to me, that I would never figure out how to hold you, feed you, care for you. But, I knew I would love you the best I could. And then...the moment our eyes met, all hesitation and fear disappeared. I knew we would be fine. Better than fine. And, I would love you with the most fierce kind of love imaginable.
I also made a lot of assumptions. Natural assumptions that all "normal" parents make. Things like, I would be present to watch YOU have children. That we would have a lifetime together. That nothing horrific could touch us. That bad things happen to other people's children. We were untouchable.
Oh, how the landscape has changed. Peanut, every night for the last few weeks Momma has woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I can't feel The Bean moving. Well, of course I can't. He's trying to sleep. But, in a panic I get up, walk around, drink some juice, and get him stirred up. I am already living with a whole new set of assumptions - awful assumptions. We will not get more than a few, precious moments with him. Something will go terribly wrong in delivery. Just like you, he will slip away in his sleep. With no answer.
I said to Dadda today, "I have to hope that once The Bean arrives, the heart will trump the brain. I have to believe that will be the case." His response? "God, I hope so."
We have all the baby monitors and protections in place. We are prepared. It is almost time to welcome your little brother, while still grieving over the loss of you, our beautiful Peanut. A loss that still feels so unreal. And, in the hardest of moments, a brief, 500-day life that is beginning to feel a little dream-like. Almost as if it were a different life, and we were different people. Then again, we were.
I choose to search for the blessings in all of this. That I will be a more present, focused Momma. I will cherish every single moment. I will take more pictures, document more stories, be less caught up in the politics of work and life, and will immerse myself in the beauty of every smile, giggle, touch and hug.
That is our gift from you. That is another ripple in your Peanut Effect.
I go to bed tonight wondering...will we go into labor? Is tomorrow the day? I am thankful for the Bean's kicks and turns. He is strong. Alive. I am full of joy and sorrow. Most of all, I am consumed by love. Momma love for my children. For the Peanut who changed me - the core and fiber of me - for eternity. To the moon, the stars, the sun and back, sweet boy.