When my husband started squawking about having a second child I was thrown into a tailspin of conflicting emotions. I'm an only child and since we already had a daughter I felt pretty complete as a family. My little girl is also a bit of a diva and I was convinced she would try to kill any child invading her kingdom. I mean any good monarch is going to defend their sovereignty. I also worried that we would be taking something away from Samantha, that she would no longer be special because we had not one, but two. And I feared all of the usual things you do when having a baby: will the baby be healthy? can I take care of this baby? what does this baby do to my job? will I snap under the pressure of two kids and work, finally killing my husband?
My husband had none of these worries because, as always, he was operating in total certainty without a single doubt. He pronounced me crazy and never really considered we would not have a second child.
Then, unbeknownst to me, he calculated my fertility with an on on-line calculator (on they sly) got me drunk on cheap wine, and violated me. When he dismounted, he pointed at me and said, "You're very fertile today!" I said, "What the hay?!" Two weeks later a test from CVS confirmed that I had indeed been very fertile that day. My husband and I are so fertile it's a miracle we don't have ten kids. Well, since you have to have intercourse to get pregnant maybe it's not such a miracle.
Anyway, I was pregnant with baby number two and consumed with doubt about how I would love this baby. Then we found out it was a boy and I felt relieved that Samantha would still be our only girl (I know I sound crazy) and anxious about relating to a little boy (the mini-dingus freaks me out). I could not imagine loving another child anywhere close to how I love my little girl. And what if he turned out to be a better child in some way, would I love Sam less? I was terrified.
Then he was born and I was in love with an 8 pound ball of goo. The mysterious connection between mother and child is nothing short of miraculous. Here is this little thing that poops everywhere, pukes everywhere, pees on everything, screams at you for the smallest need, and refuses to help their self in any way, all the while giving nothing in return- not even a thank you! Yet these self-centered, demanding, completely dependent, expensive creatures are a bubble of a pure joy. It defies all reason.
But just as I loved my little girl beyond reason I love my little boy. They are my most prized possessions. I can't kiss them enough, hold them enough, tell them I love them enough.
And how does my daughter feel about her little brother? After accepting the fact she wasn't getting a sister, I can happily report that she adores him. She kisses him, plays with him, worries about him. She argues with me about what he needs, becoming another critic of my parenting skills. Sam's genuine love for her baby brother and her lack of murderous rage toward him is one of the most marvelous things I've witnessed in my life.
Any concerns I had about hurting Sam or not loving this little boy "enough" have melted away like the fat on Nicole Richie. As much as it pains me to say it, my husband was right. Well, hell, there's a first time for everything.