Nothing Else Compares

Here it is, the extremely sentimental post you've all been waiting for. Avert your eyes now if you prefer. I actually wrote this on Friday, but saved the draft and forgot to post it until now.

Today, I am feeling exactly how perfect it is to have a tiny baby. I wasn't too keen on it the first time, probably because I was so freaked out. But now that I know what I'm doing, it really is the most wonderful thing on earth. I was in the midst of gazing down at Henry nursing, when I suddenly realized that the radio was singing, "nothing else compares..." (the chorus of some Coldplay song), and I realized that it was the exact sentiment for having a baby. It is incomprehensible until you do it, and it cannot be explained to anyone who doesn't have a baby. There are just no words in English for the love, terror, grief and wonder that you feel when you have a baby. Henry is already several pounds bigger than at birth, he can hold his head up, and yet I grieve for the tiny newborn he was only 6 weeks ago. He seems to get more independent from me every day. It seems like it took only a few months for Margaret to become two and a half, and I know that Henry will grow up even faster, because I don't get to spend the intense one-on-one time with him that I did with her. Before I know it, both of them will be in school, and then off to college in a blink of an eye. I feel this so keenly now with Henry, because I see how fast it goes.

Because Henry is most likely my last baby, it's even more bittersweet. I find myself intensely sad at times that I will never have a newborn baby again, even though every day that I juggle two children, I'm pretty sure that I can't handle a third. The pregnancy and VBAC went so well, it is tempting to try it again, but how on earth would we afford another child because we would have to buy the requisite minivan (or other bigger car). How on earth will I avoid a visit from DFCS if I can't clean my house at all? How could I keep 3 children safe in a parking lot with only two hands? Perhaps I just want to be pregnant and have a newborn for a few weeks and then give it to someone else. It's not actually likely that I would ever want to give away a baby that I nursed for any length of time, but it sounds like a way to recreate this truly magical time without having to figure out how to do it long term. Anyone want a nearly 37-year-old surrogate mom? Does anyone who has ever met me before think I've been kidnapped by aliens, because I NEVER thought I was idealize pregnancy and the newborn like I just did.

There is nothing that compares to the sweet feeling of holding a tiny person. Last weekend, we visited with Wes' aunts and uncle who had come to visit his parents (and to see the baby, of course). Wes' cousin died suddenly a few months ago at the age of 40 of a stomach aneurysm, and his mother was one of the visiting aunts. She held Henry for much of the day that we visited, and I couldn't imagine the emotions she must have felt so soon after her own baby boy died. I am weeping just thinking of how awful it must be to lose your child at any age, and how holding someone else's baby must bring back those emotions. She seemed to enjoy holding Henry, so I was glad to share him.