Betty's Blues

I'm drowning in memories of being pregnant last summer, knowing that I was weeks away from my due date right around this time.... so excited to meet my little boy, and to have my body back a little bit. I remember my skin pulling so hard, those stretch marks stretching so tight, and just being SO READY to have him out. I was losing the "cherish these days of being pregnant" battle, big time. I knew Josh didn't want a third child and I knew I had to hold on tight to these days, because they would soon be gone. And at the same time, I would have been THRILLED if Matt had been born early!

I remember wanting a cranberry limeade from Sonic every other day. Or a cranberry slush!

We changed little Matthew's name about 3 or 4 times in these last weeks...

My mom called over and over again, wondering when Matt was going to be born (as if I could tell her), and finagling her schedule to adapt to my delivery.

I was hot (I KNOW, I KNOW, *this* summer has been way hotter, I KNOW) and sweaty and tired and heartburny and I just couldn't wait till it was "go time." I had my bag packed with everything I brought for Ben's delivery plus the few things I wished I had had when he was born. I packed myself little candy treats - a couple mint Three Musketeers, because they settled my stomach. I had brand-new lip balm that was a free gift from the woman on Etsy who made my reusable nursing pads. I had a comfy coming-home outfit. I kept wondering what it would be like to go into labor, because I'd been induced with Ben.

I remember not wanting to bend over, at all. It hurt.

There was no room on my lap for Ben. I was already deeply sad about the way my big boy had been jilted.

It was impossible to lift that heavy 1.5 year old over the side of the crib!

I would walk into Matt's room, all set up, run my hand over the diapers waiting to cover his little bum, straighten the dust ruffle on the crib set. I stared at the minute imperfections in the wall paint that we'd worked so hard to perfect.

I couldn't wait for him to come, and yet I wasn't ready for him. It is a totally different feeling with your second child. Your first is ALL excitement, all thrill and happiness. Matt was a little fear, a little dread - definitely thrilled and excited to meet him, you understand - it's just that you know what you're getting into the second time around. That whole labor and delivery thing. And bleed for weeks thing. And sore nipples and difficult latch-ons and all of that stuff. The pumping, the cleaning of the pump - oh, the constant cleaning of the pump! The midnight feeds. The early morning feeds. The constant feeds!

And that firstborn of yours who owns your heart, your whole heart? You know that soon and very soon you are going to have to tear it in half, by yourself, on purpose; you are going to take some of the love you've been giving him and you are going to give it to his brother. And you know he won't understand, and you know it will hurt - you and him.

After Matt was born, I immediately packed up my maternity things. And as soon as he was out of his newborn clothes, I packed those up, too. In a fog of sleeplessness, I quickly and intentionally gave away the things I knew I would not be able to part with, later. Man, I am thankful for that. I cried as I pulled out the newborn one-piece sleepers and tried to put them in the give away pile. I couldn't do it. I kept one or two of Ben's and one of Matt's. I seriously couldn't let go of Ben's baby days (Matt still was a tiny baby; I was more OK letting go of his stuff).

I have compartmentalized so many times this past year. I just can't take all the emotion. I feel a little cheated because I was free to feel all of these things with Ben, knowing there would be another baby, and excited to see what the next stage of his little life would bring. With Matt - I can't. I cannot allow myself to bathe in the emotion of his babyness because I know it is fleeting. (And, because one second later, I am sending someone to time-out, and Mama tears don't blend well with Mama standing firm...) I suspect in the dark recesses of my heart that Matthew, my little Matthew, will be my last 'little,' and I can't take the thought of that. It might be counter-productive to avoid drinking it all in, since I just might not get to sip at this cup again... but I can't do it. I have slyly pushed the fast-forward button for 11 months, now - get through this, get through this, don't get too attached to this - and I am both glad I've done it this way and am KICKING myself for doing it this way, because I ache to approach Matt's first birthday without having properly exhausted myself 'feeling' his first year. I ache.

My sweet little Matthew. His pearly white nubs of teeth smile up at me and I know that I love him. I fear who he will become :), but I love him. I am blessed. He is full of life, full of wonder, full of .....something! And he doesn't let me wallow for one minute.

I simply cannot allow him to turn 1. I just can't.