Mourning Motherhood

I’m roughly five months away from giving birth to our second child and although that still seems very far away, I know that I will go to bed tonight and wake up tomorrow and the day will be upon me.

That’s how quickly time passes.

In lieu of this new addition, I recently told a group of my girlfriends that I feel like I’m mourning the loss of my first child and I mean that in the most figurative way. Life with E these past two years and three months has been emotional, overbearing, joyful, exquisite, challenging and rewarding. She was my first and we’ve learned so much together on this road of parent/child and I know that I’m about to rock her world and my own.

Doing things with her now at this age is easy. It’s fun. It’s manageable. But in July my focus will change, my responsibilities will be doubled and my freedom will be squelched, until I learn to adjust to a whole new life.

I know I can do it. I know it will be hard. I know it’s what I want. It’s just the acknowledgement of the change that is equal parts exciting and intimidating.

Eliana has become my best bud, my partner in crime, my eyes to a world that’s 30 inches tall. She’s the only reason worth waking up in the morning before 7am. Pancakes taste sweeter, butterflies are more enchanting, and reading is no longer a selfish pleasure. I look at her and I see half of me and half of her father. A product of love so wonderful that I can only imagine she will be a force to reckon with in the world and I don’t hope, I know she will accomplish great things.

It’s in her blood.

So I can’t help, but feel a little saddened that this phase in life will be ending. Even though the future looks brighter than the past, this time with her, with me — us —  has been so special. It’s hard to believe she won’t remember it, but I know I will.

I also know the best gift I could give her is a sibling. Someone to share secrets with, life with, joys and pitfalls. So when this phase of our life comes to a close, I will look back on all the times we had with just her and I and her papa and I will smile. I will cry. And I will think…

This is how it all began, but it’s not how it’s suppose to end.


2 thoughts on “Mourning Motherhood

  1. Beautifully said. You're a special writer, which means your children will always have a special tie to you – to have your words written down for them to savor. God bless!


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