I remember vividly the days that followed the birth of my
first baby. I was so awed and inspired, I took the time to journal pages of
what I felt and thought, what my husband said, what I said, what the doctors
said. I tried to articulate the pain and the triumph in words and more words…till
I found that those words were just not enough. The fact that words were
colorless compared to the real experience did not hinder me from continuing to
write, to document the event that changed my life forever.
I had a very serious
concern when I got pregnant with my second that my heart didn’t have the
capacity to love another child like I loved my little daughter. Well that
concern was useless. I found what mothers always find: the hearts capacity
increases. Then came my third and my insides were ready to burst with
adoration.
While pregnant with my fourth I got up to use the restroom
in the middle of the night, like usual, and saw the most enchanting moon full
and brilliant over the peaceful night. The poets heart within wanted to find my
notebook and sit under that landscape until its palpable inspiration overwhelmed
me and I could write and write beautifully. My tired mommy body wanted to get
back in bed and try and get another two hours before the pitter patter of a two
year olds feet was followed by that two year old climbing in to bed and putting an end to all repose. The impulses that made
up who I once was sometimes strain for recognition in the instincts and urges
that make up the fullness of who I am now. Of course I got back in bed.
Then along came Watson. I never sat down to spell out the
moments leading up to and just after his birth, and I certainly am not going to
here, but when they laid him on my chest, my heart grew to a painful degree.
The little child is a miracle.
I read a quote that said “life began with waking up and
loving my mothers face.” I am witness to this. Little Watson’s love is
tangible, his eyes express it with such innocent eloquence and I can’t tear my
own away. God bless my baby angel.
I thought nothing was as hard as having three kids and being
pregnant but having four has been quite the adjustment. Better, yes, but having
unchartered challenges of its own. Ten weeks have passed and I'm really starting to figure out how to be mom to four.
Crazy, chaotic and loud; I am often overwhelmed, sometimes frantic, mostly hurried, but it is really, really amazing.
