How Has It Been Two Years??

Two years ago at this time I was in the hospital, standing in the shower and feeling like my uterus was eating me from the inside out. Sitting on the birth ball made me want to pass out, so I leaned against the shower wall and let the warm water wash over me, and tried to ignore the exhaustion that the relenting pain caused.

The hours of screaming came later… hours of my husband and the on-call OBGYN telling me to “breathe! you need to breathe and relax!” I couldn’t. The only thing I could do was scream. For hours. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Oh, yeah… and the screaming? Caused by the unnecessary pain of having to have fluids and antibiotics because the lazy, dumbass head OBGYN at the practice my Midwife belonged to couldn’t find my strep results.

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Anyway… the hours of pain and screaming? The vomiting at 5 cm? The total and all-encompassing fear and exhaustion and anxiety? 100% totally worth it, because I came out with the most perfect, most adorable, and kindest, bestest, handsomest baby boy there ever was.

For two years I have shared my soul with this tiny person. I have nursed him, stayed up all night with him, cuddled him, kissed him, scolded him, cried over him, cried for him, worried about him, played with him… and loved him. Boy, do I love him.

Before I had a child, I could not have imagined the amount of love I could feel for my child. Man, is it vast. I want to be near him, touching him, all the time. I want my lips no further than 2 feet away from that soft spot on his neck, where I kiss him and make his face scrunch up in giggles.

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And he has grown up into this little person. This kind little man who will kiss the pain away if ever you utter the words “ouch!”. A curious adventurer, always quick to request a “hand!” to show you whatever it is he wants to know more about! A fearless climber who exalts in climbing up on top of the couch and then tumbling off of it, upside down. And the sweet Mama’s Boy who climbs up next to me on the couch to either lay his head on my shoulder or onto my lap for a nursing session.

As I sit typing this it is hard to hold the tears back from overflowing. Tears of joy. Tears of all the frustrations in the past 24 months. Tears of all the fleeting moments, stolen away to become but a fuzzy memory in the back of my mind. And tears for all the missed moments… tears for being afraid I didn’t enjoy it enough. Because I’m not sure I did. Did I savor at those first few wobbling steps enough? The first time he went on the playground  by himself, did I truly appreciate his new found independence enough? I don’t know. I don’t know.

I understand that there is no way for me to remember with perfect clarity every single moment, every joy, every triumph. That is what I cry for. Because he is never going to be one again.

But the promise of the future fills my heart with joy and the hope of new accomplishments. And I look forward to enjoying each and every one as much as I possibly can.

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