Looking back on Lily's first year, there were many "guess how much I love you?" posts, updates on how her little world was changing every three months, mornings of just laying in bed, stuffing our faces while watching tv... This new thing called motherhood was unfamiliar, a little hard, and just felt right.
Norah turns one this Saturday.
It may seem to the blogosphere that my love and pride over her being isn't as enthusiastic as Lily's, but I know now, they can't even compare.
A year ago to the date, I sat in my bed, overdue, praying that something would happen. That my body would just pop and I'd get to meet my mystery baby. In those sweet, confusing last days of pregnancy tiny doubts would run sparatically through my mind.
"What if you don't love him/her as much as you love Lily?"
Was definitely one of them. Veteran moms would tell me "Your heart just...gets bigger!" It sounded so cliche, like they were covering something up. I mean, your heart does not get bigger [and if yours does, you should probably go see a doctor. That ain't normal.] how can a lousy human like myself just come up with more love?
The night I was in labor with Norah, screaming at God, I first felt how painful growing your heart is. God knocked my bad-ass birthing behind straight down on the floor, and begged me to take His hand through 8 hours of transition. Not until twenty minutes before she was born did I grab hold of Him, but before I did I kept thinking
"I would do anything for you, Baby"
I hadn't met her, but I loved her so much. I wanted her here. I wanted her safe. And I was going to endure the absolute worst part of labor for longer than I even knew was humanly possible, just to meet her.
When she slipped out, Eamon and I knew immediately she was a girl before even looking at her. She locked eyes with Eamon as soon as her little toes met the air, and her little mouth suckled before I could even see the color of her beautiful brown hair. She was so enthusiastic about being with us, finally.
The nights over this past year have been long, sweet, overwhelming, and victorious. The night after her birth I woke up, almost as if I had forgotten about the whole ordeal and was so surprised to see her there. My heart burst at the seams watching her tiny chest rise and fall as she recovered from such a long journey. Sometimes, I wake in the morning, watch her laying beside me and think of that first day. When she was new and my heart was just grateful for her life. It makes the start to a new day after a shit night much easier.