Another One

Last Thursday, at midnight, I got a phone call.

It was my neighbor and good friend down the street; she was in labor.

Quickly, she and her husband, and my hubby and I, sprang into action.

We set up the pack-n-play, and they drove down, installed an additional car-seat into our car, and brought in a laundry basket full of clean, toddler-sized cloth diapers.

Then, my 39-week pregnant friend carried in her almost 2 year old, who was half way between asleep and awake.

She rocked him and tried to put him back down before finally leaving and heading over to the birth center where Ella was born almost 6 months ago.

I heard her leave with tears in my eyes.

I then spent the rest of the evening alternating between my baby and her toddler, neither of whom really slept well, thanks to the middle-of-the-night interruption.

Finally, at 4:30 a.m., we all fell asleep, Ella in bed with me, and our friend's toddler, K, asleep in the pack-n-play, with my husband stretched out on the floor next to it.

It was not yet 7 a.m. when I heard the patter of little, footie-pajama-d feet and saw a toe-headed toddler boy push open my door, look up, and exclaim, "Baby!" pointing gleefully at Ella.

We were awake to start the day with two children.

The hubs helped but quickly had to get ready for work, both of us knowing but not saying that I'd be alone with two under age 2 till midnight, when he'd return from his shift on the boat.

And, so, I spooned up some oatmeal for K while nursing Ella, still in my pajamas.

Both babies were surprisingly happy, considering how little sleep we'd all gotten.

I, meanwhile, felt like I'd been run over by a truck.

But I was distracted from the pain by K chasing Marvin the Dog while Ella giggled endlessly at it.

Then, knowing I had no choice because I'd already committed to hosting a play-date/crafting afternoon at my house that day, I loaded both kids up into my car and headed out for the art-supplies store.

It was slow-going leaving the house. It was slow-going getting them both out of the car, too. And it was even slower-going pushing both of them in the cart through the crowded craft-store aisles.

Ella, who likes to bounce in the cart's front seat covered in her cart-cover (How did she get so big that she can actually sit in the cart?), was blowing spit bubbles while K, who was in the bigger, back portion of the cart, kept chewing on the packaging of the supplies I'd throw back there, as the poor boy must have been teething.

And I can't even tell you the looks I got as older woman saw me and clearly thought "Oh, you poor thing, with two little ones like that."

It could have been a harrowing experience.

Except it wasn't.

Because, as loaded them back into the car and drove away, Ella fell asleep, and K looked over and whispered adorably, "Baby! Hush!"

You could have melted my heart right then and there.

Later that afternoon, my friend came back for her toddler. She'd dilated to 5 centimeters and then stopped contracting. She wasn't yet in active labor, so the midwives sent her home, still pregnant, still like me - a mother to only one.

And, as I watched her walk away, I felt it. Something I didn't think I'd feel. Something I'd actually worried I'd never experience.

Jealousy.

Not green-eyed or evil.

But simple envy that soon, very soon, she was going to have two babies to love and not one.

Despite all the work and the hassle and the chaos that it is to have two whole little beings in your complete care 24-7, it's also kind of awesome, too.

I actually, honestly, liked it.

I liked laughing at the toddler with the baby on my hip. And reading to K while Ella sat in my lap. And watching Ella watch K watch Ella as we all sat around on a blanket with some toys.

Granted, there were moments where it came quite the brouhaha - both babes literally blew out their respective cloth diapers within seconds of each other, and at one point, poop was on me, them, and several changing table covers - but it was still actually something I enjoyed.

It felt, well, right.

And, honestly, I didn't expect that. Not in the least.

I love kids. I love K. I watch him all the time.

But after having my own child, I had - have? - real fears over having Baby No. 2.

Will I love them like I love Ella? Will Ella resent sharing my love? Will I get along with one better than the other? Will Ella feel replaced? Will I start to resent them both when I have even less "me" time? Will I ever be able to do anything with two under my roof? Will my house ever be clean again?

Can I parent more than one child?

It's silly, but when I actually think about having another baby, I feel the urge to turn to Ella and apologize. To say, "I promise. You'll be happy about this when you're older."

To try and explain my choices to a 6 month old.

The thought of being away from her while I'm in labor; the thought of her sharing my lap, my love, my bed, my snuggles, my everything? Well, it makes me cry.

And, yes, I know love is infinite. And I know siblings are some of the best gifts we can give our kids. After all, I adore my brothers.

But the love I have for my daughter is unlike any other love I've ever experienced.

And it's so new and special that the thought of that lessening or changing scares me.

But last week, that changed. Last week, for the first time, I realized I could do it.

I realized I could love doing it.

I realized that I wasn't meant just to have one baby. I realized that my heart and mind had the ability to care for more than Ella.

I realized that, at some point, I'd have another one.

***

Now, before you all get any whacky ideas, let me assure you: I don't think it's a good idea to have another one right now.

Ella is still a baby and is still exclusively breast-fed and pretty much attached at my hip. She's not ready to share that, yet.

So, unless we get really lucky, I'm likely not going to be announcing Baby No. 2 any time soon.

But, while life would be easier if Ella was potty-trained and sleeping in a toddler bed before she finds out about a new baby brother or sister, I'm not guaranteeing that will happen, either.

All this to say that Baby No. 2 is still only a theoretical concept, at this very moment.

Right now, my whole point is this: Last week, I renewed my capacity to love. I started to get just the tiniest bit excited about bringing our next child into this world.

I finally started to believe in another one.

***

This week, I'm writing a brief series on motherhood. A lot of these posts have been weighing on me lately, and I figure now's the time get them out there. So stay tuned this week for more on mommies. (And suggestions/questions are, of course, welcome.)

Happy Wednesday, everyone!