Full disclosure: I'm really scared of having a second child. It's not the labor. It's not the breastfeeding (well, maybe a little). It's not even the inevitable sleepless nights. It's the being Mom to two, when there is only one of me. It's the worry that I just don't have enough hands to do all that needs to be done for them. It's the fear that my children might someday feel like there wasn't enough of their Mom to go around.
I have about six weeks left before Yoda makes his big appearance, and while I could be obsessing over what he might look like or what more we can do for his nursery, I've spent the majority of the last week consumed with how Anna is going to handle this change. Will she be mad when she sees her brother for the first time, or will she wait a few days before she unleashes her wrath? Will she cling to me like a monkey or not want to look at me for doing this to her? Will I ever stop feeling guilty for dividing my attention between two equally perfect children?
This week I decided to maximize my time with my girl, the last for a very long time where it is just us. We went to the park:
Checked out the ducks at Centennial Lakes:
Snacked on Cheerios while watching the boats on Lake Bryant:
Went on long walks searching for acorns and ants:
Spent a couple of lazy mornings snuggling in bed:
And I would (and I'm not kidding) find a few moments each day to say, 'I'm sorry, Bubbie, for all the ways I'm not going to be good at this. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please find a way to remember it, even when it's hard.'
It's ironic that that ridiculous Time Magazine cover came out this week. While I couldn't care less who breastfeeds for how long or how Blossom co-sleeps with her children, the title of the article hit me pretty close: 'Are You Mom Enough?' No, was my initial response. Other Moms are, but clearly I'm not. Thanks, Time, for reminding me of that. Tear.
But then tonight, while Anna flipped through a book on her bedroom floor, I took a second to look at all the pictures I'd taken over the last week of us together. A woman in her thirties may not be on the cover of Time, she might not have (yet) realized her personal career goals, and she may not exactly be the best-dressed Mom that's ever walked through Target, but she is, in fact, doing some pretty great things.
How does she know that? Because when she looks at pictures like this:
She will always remember how this was the day that she and her baby girl sat next to each other on a bench, and she described to her how the ducks didn't go away forever; that they would be back. And in her own, baby way, Anna understood, and smiled.
And in doing so, told her Mom that she was enough. That she always would be.