Doubled

Photo of Max and me by Lauriann Wakefield

 Nothing could have prepared me for how I felt on that early October morning in 2006.  Nothing. For nine months, I prayed, worried, anticipated, yearned, and hoped for a healthy baby.  I waited and waited, uncomfortable, moody, and eventually a week overdue.

Then my baby was born. All those months I carried him inside, I thought I loved him. And I did, to some extent, but not even close to the way I loved him after the doctor placed him in my arms. It was a love that was more powerful than any I'd experienced: frightening on one hand ('They're letting me leave with him? By myself?!") and enormously sacred on the other. That raw maternal love, mixed with the post-birth endorphins and happy hormones, was beyond blissful.  I made that baby. Somehow, my body knew how to grow him. And now he was here, perfect, and I loved him more than I thought a person could love anyone or anything.

Who knew that same maternal bond would grow and grow, that I would come to love him more with each passing day. Over the past four years, I've seen the love for my boy change me.  It has made me more patient. It has made me more determined. It has made me a little more selfless. It has made me anxious. Really, really anxious. My life revolves around this little boy -- he is my day in and day out -- and I want to do everything right.  That's when the guilt kicks in. None of those stupid parenting books I read (all of which I've since gotten rid of) before I had the boy mentioned anything about 'mommy guilt.'

So why am I mentioning all of this? Because I'm about to confess a fear I've had since July, when I found out I was expecting again:

How on earth do you love another child as much as you love your first?  How does one handle it?

I've asked my mom this countless times. She simply assures me that "you just do". I know she's right -- my parents don't play favorites.  They just don't. When my mom says she loves each of her kids as much as she loves the other, I know it. But does she love them all the same way?

I think of all the people I love in my life. The way I love my husband is unlike any other love I've known. I love my son, but in an entirely different way than anyone else. I love my parents equally, but I love them as individuals differently.  I love all three of my younger brothers, but I love them all differently, too. With each of my brothers, I have a set of memories and feelings attached to each of them that constitutes how I love them. Is that how it works with multiple children?  Do you love them each in a different way based on your experience with them? 

I'm more than ready to be done with this pregnancy. Words can't express my gratitude for the pregnancy, but it has taken a toll on me. Mostly emotionally and mentally. And while I can't wait to have baby #2 here, I'm so nervous to have another child. Can I deal with all the feelings I have for my one child doubled?  I can deal with the all the happy, warm-fuzzy feelings being doubled, but what about the anxiety, the guilt, the protectiveness, the uncertainty? 

I guess it's all a leap of faith. Almost eight years ago, I married my husband. It felt right, I knew I was supposed to marry him. That didn't mean I wasn't a little nervous, that my heart didn't start racing the second I saw the Manti temple come into view on that summer afternoon.  I didn't know what it was like to be married. How grateful I am that I leapt with faith. It took faith to have Max, to try to have a baby just months after the trauma of miscarriage, and I did it. Whenever I've taken a leap of faith, it's often been rewarded. So, here I am, once again on a precipice.  Obviously, there's no turning back. I'm having this baby in March no matter what. I guess it just boils down to how I leap.