Deep down, in my heart of hearts, I knew I was having a second boy when I was only seven weeks pregnant. I had gotten together with a friend to have a cup of coffee and share the news that I was pregnant, and we immediately launched into whether I would be having a boy or girl. While I would have been happy either way, I did share with my friend my fears about having second boy. I wasn’t afraid of the possibility of never having a daughter. Instead, I was afraid I would never be able to love another little boy as much as I love my first son.
As soon as those words came out of my mouth, my eyes welled up with tears, my heart fluttered, and my stomach filled with butterflies. In the back of my head, I thought, “Yep, it’s gotta be a boy.” For the rest of my pregnancy, whenever I thought of having a little girl, I smiled, but I never had this same visceral reaction that I did every time I thought of having another boy. Even when I said our boy name, my heart soared at the thought of giving a tiny human this name. So when we saw the outdoor plumbing on the ultrasound at 18 weeks, I cried tears of joy.
And yet, the fear of not being able to love my second child enough continued throughout the remainder of my pregnancy. For my entire life, I have wanted more than one child, but when I got pregnant with my second, I could not wrap my brain around the idea that I had enough love in my heart for two children. Perhaps it was because I was having another boy, or because this second pregnancy was unplanned. Or maybe it was because the second time around I didn’t have the time to marvel at every little kick or sit and bask in the glory of being pregnant, like I could with my first. Whatever it was, I was almost certain my younger child would always play second fiddle to the first.
I had such a special relationship with my older son that I could not imagine being duplicated, so for months, I read blog after blog and sought anyone’s advice to try and assuage my fears. Everyone assured that I had no need to worry. They told me my heart would grow and make room for this new baby. Deep down, I knew this to be true, but my brain could not grasp the idea. I prayed every day that I would be a good enough mother and love him as much as I could.
Finally, the day arrived for my son to be born, and I was more than anxious to meet this little man. He was 11 days late, and my body was seriously done being pregnant. When he came out, I felt a greater rush of relief at not being pregnant anymore than I did an instant connection with my baby, and our skin-to-skin time was cut short because he wasn’t adjusting as well as he could have. I stared at him across the room, and my arms ached to hold him. I wanted to memorize his every little feature and start getting to know the newest person in my life.
When he was finally back in my arms, I didn’t let him go for quite awhile — and in that time, I could see what everyone had been telling me. Love knows no bounds, and my heart was more than prepared to love this amazing little boy. I fell in love with him when he was less than an hour old, and I will continue to love him for the rest of my life.
The first year of my son’s life has gone by in a flash. He’s moving around faster than I ever imagined, he loves every moment he spends with his older brother, and he has a joy for life that is truly inspiring. I love getting to know him more and more every single day. One day recently I was snapping my usual one million photos of my children, and one of my baby stopped me in my tracks:
As soon as I saw it, I thought, How on earth could I ever imagine NOT loving this child? That smile, that face, those cheeks, that beautiful and bright spirit. Of course I can love him enough, and I’m sorry I ever doubted that.
All the advice I received proved to be true, but I will amend one thing: My heart didn’t need to grow in order to make room for my second child. The room was already there, just waiting for him to come into my life.