It was about two years ago this month that we found out that Noah was coming into our life. We had been wanting another child, had been planning for one, and not really doing a whole lot about NOT having one, and suddenly, he was on his way. I remember the day I figured out I was pregnant....and while somewhere in there I was happy, my overriding feelings were of fear and uncertainty. I remember thinking the timing was bad, that we were stupid to not plan more carefully, and now the reality was we'd have three kids in the house by year's end.
Not the most auspicious beginning.
Truth is, I was worried. I hated my job, I was beginning to hate my career choice, and I was now going to have to keep working at it to afford day care for two little kids. How would we afford three kids? Diapers, formula, clothes, and the horrible reality of daycare payments! Yeah, my mind was, in it's hormone-addled state, not really focusing on the right things.
Because my husband is the outstanding man that he is, and he loves me so much, he just knew everything was going to be okay. So, I did too. Granted, it was more of a stretch for me....I didn't go from abject terror and visions of financial ruin to idyllic scenes of family togetherness and joy all in one day. It took a little longer than that. I got there, though.
This is where I say that while I apparently am built well for pregnancy, I have extreme dislike for the period of time from about seven months until about 12 weeks post-partum. I'd had two other kids, one a horrific experience on many levels, and the other not as bad, but this third one was a crap shoot. It could go either way.
The pregnancy was not one of bliss. It was marked by struggle, fear, biological and genetic uncertainty, scary test results, and the realization that I. was. having. a. boy. BOY! I had two girls. what the hell would I do with a boy?
But, then, we decided on a name, Noah Spencer. And then, in November, he was born. Oh, he was born! It was a struggle to give birth, then a struggle to recover from major abdominal surgery (that I could FEEL -- until I got more anesthetic), and then the bleary, sleep-deprived hormonal hell of the initial newborn stage. Punctuated by an ambulance ride, oxygen tanks, monitoring and respiratory therapy, and four days in the hospital when he was sixteen days old.
But he grew. And I loved him, we all loved him so much. We still do.
He was so different than my other two babies had been. Quieter, happier, snugglier.
He's still sort of that way. Now, at fifteen months, he is mobile, and starting to talk, and he plays and laughs and wants to be in my arms so much of the time. I kissed his cheek this morning, right below his ear, and inhaled the sweet scent of my baby's skin. I can't kiss him enough some days. He wraps his arms around my neck and holds on, or rides on my hip, fingers gripping my shirt. We play "where's your nose?" and "eat your neck" and I love it.
I reflected all day today on Noah's deliciousness, his snuggliness, and how desperately in love I am with my son. I can watch him navigate the world all day, and honestly, as much as I complain about having to hold him as much as I do, I am happy about doing it. I know the day will come when he is too big to ride on my hip. At three, Wren is already too big to carry, really.
Maybe it's because he is my only son, or because he is my very last child, or just because by the time I had him, I was much more experienced at being a mother, so the new-mom days scared me less, but I find it amazing just how closely knit into my soul he is. All of my kids are deep parts of me, though, and I love them all unequivocally and irreversably.
I think it has to do with the fact that my pregnancy with him, and some of the time after his birth, was fraught with high emotions, pain, and so much negative stuff, that I have come to appreciate just how simple the love of and for a child can be. Even now, when he decides that he needs me at 4 in the morning, I am happy to sit in the dark and rock him, his head pillowed on my chest.
I was thinking, also, about how nobody can prepare you for the heart-overflowing love you develop for all your children. It's like being baptized all over again, in a warm, fast-moving current, and you just submerge yourself and let it wash over you, and let it carry you away. And you realize that time passes, and you want to hold it all, remember it all, save it all, because one day everything will be different, and you will say, just like all the adults you've ever known, "Oh! The time just goes by so fast!"
Even those interminably slow days, the soul-sucking drudge days go by in a hurry you can't recognize at the time.
My Noah is sleeping now, soundly in his bed. Wren is sleeping too, bundled up in her favorite pajamas, under her Disney Princess comforter. I highly doubt Kira is asleep...she is at her dad's and she is more likely reading or playing a video game, even at this late hour. Later, when I finally give in and go to bed, I'll go into Wren's room and smooth the hair back from her forehead and kiss her and tuck her more tightly in, and I'll go into Noah's room, and stand over the crib, just watching him sleep. I'll think about Kira, and send her my love, and then I'll go to bed.
Tomorrow, I'll do it all over again.
