As I hold your hand basking in the glow of our magical relationship,
I suddenly feel a kick from within,
as if to remind me that our time alone is limited.
And I wonder:
How could I ever love another child as I love you?
Then she is born, and I watch you.
I watch the pain you feel at having to share me,
as you've never shared me before.
I hear you telling me in your own way,
"Please love only me."
And I hear myself telling you in mine,
"I can't," knowing, in fact, that I never can again.
You cry. I cry with you.
I almost see our new baby as an intruder
on the precious relationship we once shared.
A relationship we can never quite have again.
But then, barely noticing,
I find myself attached to that new being,
and feeling almost guilty.
I'm afraid to let you see me enjoying her.
--as though I am betraying you.
But then I notice your resentment change,
first to curiosity, then to protectiveness,
finally to genuine affection.
More days pass, and we are settling into a new routine.
The memory of days with just the two of us is fading fast.
But something else is replacing those wonderful times we shared, just we two.
There are new times--only now, we are three.
I watch the love between you grow,
the way you look at each other,
touch each other.
I watch how she adores you--as I have for so long.
I see how excited you are by each of her new accomplishments.
And I begin to realize that I haven't taken something from you,
I've given something to you.
I noticed that I am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both of you.
I find that my love for each of you is as different as you are, but equally strong.
And my question is finally answered,
to my amazement...
Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you--
And although I realize that you may have to share my time,
I now know you'll never share my love.
There's enough of that for both of you
--you each have your own supply.
I love you--both
and I thank you for blessing my life.
This poem made me cry. Actually, that doesn't describe it correctly. This poem made me weep, wracking sobs that made it hard to catch my breath, mascara running down my neck, the overwhelming urge to wake Madelynn up at midnight just to spend a little time with her. I have been so upset these past few days (weeks?) as my due date nears. I'm so scared for Mads, I'm afraid she's going to hate the new baby, or worse, hate me for bringing the new baby home. I'm even afraid that I'll hate my new daughter, I'll hate her for coming between us, for ruining the amazing bond that Madelynn and I share. I want to be able to drop everything I'm doing and read The Foot Book five times in a row, I want my arms to be free when Mads is in the mood to cuddle, I want to fall asleep on the couch with Babe's head on my arm and her knee digging into my ribcage and not have any reason to move.
We're running out of time. It's not just 'my baby and me' against the world anymore and my heart is just sick over it. I hope the author of that poem knows what she's talking about.