A week has passed since my last post--a week measured in days, a lifetime measured in events. We welcomed our baby GiGi this week. And, there are things I had forgotten about being a mom. I should have some hugely philosophical thoughts on birth, life, and the journey called motherhood. But I have a three-year old, and I'm sleep deprived to the point of forgetting my new daughter's name from time to time. (in my defense, she's the new kid, and I'm terrible with names).
I had forgotten that baby smell: soured milk, fresh Huggies, and baby shampoo. The way a newborn's downy little head lolls from side to side, looking for the crook in my neck that's just right for a snuggle. They way her mitted hands reach like teddy bear paws to find a spot to rest on my shoulder. And, the little smiles and chirps in her sleep. (experts may say it's just gas, but I'm her mommy and I know the little smiles mean she loves me).
I had forgotten baby sighs and baby cries. Her first night, GiGi didn't so much cry as she wailed. Like a fire truck. With a calm voice and a panicked heart, I said, "She's a talker..." I sighed with relief as the second and third nights revealed a much calmer newborn.
I had forgotten those adoring baby eyes, staring deep into mine. Searching desperately for food. GiGi looks at me the way John Candy looked at the Old 96-er in "The Great Outdoors"--like she can't believe the goodness that has been put before her...and that she's expected to eat it all.
Some things, of course, are new to a second time mom. I have a three-year old who gleefully tells everyone, "My baby sister drinks num-num milk." (Note to other nursing moms: get a sense of humor. fast.).
And, I have a three-year old who desperately needs to know that his mommy still loves him. He's pushing every boundary, but so far, the lines are holding.
Nothing could have prepared me for the unmatched joy of seeing my little boy hold his little sister proudly and kiss her fuzzy head. "Awww, she so cute," he said upon meeting her. Seeing his expression, I finally understand the true awe and wonder of a child. "Can we show her my Cars movie?" he asked, wanting to share the thing he loves almost most of all. He covered her with his blankie, and I knew, R.J. loves his baby sister. And then, he looked at me, my belly, and said, "Hey! Your belly isn't fat anymore!"
I always knew I'd be a mom. I kind of always knew I'd have more than one. But, as the nurses tried to start the i.v. the sixth (sixth) time, I questioned the wisdom of this baby number two. What if something happened to me? I have a little boy who depends on me. What if he hates her? What if he hates me for bringing her home?
The operating room stereo played "Old Time Rock and Roll," as I panicked over needles and questioned the inevitable birth of my little girl. And then, then the doctor held up this chunky, screaming little being. And I knew, absolutely without a doubt, everything will be alright. And it is. More than alright. I remembered GiGi's name when the neighbor asked tonight. Modern painkillers are a wonder. And, as baby GiGi sleeps soundly in the floor beside me, her brother sleeps soundly beside his daddy. New bonds are forming in our family. R.J. snuggles GiGi every chance he gets (to the detriment of daddy's daughter time). I'm finding that modesty is overrated as R.J. jumps in the chair beside me while GiGi has her num-num milk. And, without a doubt, I know that this Chapter New, will be the best so far.
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