Why Those People are Morons...

I read countless books when I was pregnant with my first son.
Here are a few examples:

What to Expect When Expecting
What to Expect During the First Year
Parenting Your First Child*
How to Raise a Good Kid*
All the Things You HAVE To Do To Be a Good Parent*

(*The names of these books have been changed to represent the only information I remember about them. I'll get into that later.)

Now, into the second month of having my second son, there are some notes I'd like to send to the asterisked books' authors.

"You are idiots."

"Thank you for the undue stress you placed on a pregnant woman (and, I'd wager, countless other emotional wrecking balls) during the most vulnerable state in our lives, particularly those reading during their first pregnancy."

"You have no idea what you are talking about UNLESS a)you never had children so you were guessing or b)you only had one child therefore you think everything you did worked great or c)you are a judge mental therapist with a God complex and would never admit to getting it all wrong!"

Ok, I feel a little better. Well, a little relieved anyway. Not quite better because it pains me (figuratively) to be so snappy.

However, here is what I'd actually say in an effort to not just criticize, but to do so constructively.

"Please stop telling parents to limit their adoration and pleasure in their first born."

I read a book that told me that parents look foolish when praising their child for going pee in the toilet for the first time. Similarly, it sighted our indecency when we dare to play with our children while feeding them ominous vegetables. All of the things that come so naturally as first time parents- hours awake during the night but never enough time to stare at that little face, cuddles among cuddles while just doing the routine diaper and pj swap, bottles or breast offered prematurely "just in case" the little one is hungry. All of these things we do because WE HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON. And we want to succeed.

Now, introduce baby number two. We KNOW we can succeed. We have successfully birthed, and partially raised a previous child. We are comfortable with swaddling, even if we aren't that good at it,  we can already distinguish between types of cries (oh, that just means he's wet, etc). All of these things we do because we must and we know what produced one other healthy child.

But, had I limited myself to only the needs of my first born. Had I listened to those fools and not let my first son take up all the extra room in my heart, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be so enamored by a child that I might miss those opportunities to do so with my second born.

I am comfortable with routine. I am secure in repetition. So, when my newest child sits in his swing, it is tempting to think, "Yes, good, his needs are met. Check check." And carry-on with my list a mile long. But when I turn to walk away from my blue-eyed baby to change the laundry or to "use this opportunity" to finish a load of dishes, I remember piles of laundry adding up while I sat and sang and nuzzled and cooed and goo goo ga gaed over my first born. I look back at the fool I was for that first child and I struggle to find the moments now when I have the time to just be me with my youngest son and give him the fullest view of how nuts and wild I am over having his angelic presence in my life. I'll look crazy, stupid, and ignorant every day of my life if it means that my son will feel strengthened to listen to his heart, to know he is completely loved, and that people who get to publish books can be so completely and absolutely wrong.

Love,
Jenn

And then there were four...

It's been an uphill battle, and I'm winded.
Countless times, I've wanted to throw down my sword (and that's not including the times I've cowered behind my shield for protection and cried bitterly like a little girl).
However, I'm not there right now.
In this moment, I'm somewhere in between.
It's not really the eye of the storm because, for now, there is no impeding doom just minutes from my doorstep.
It's more or less like I, and my invisible army, have just defeated our enemy on sacred ground and are in reprieve---until we meet again.
I'm not angry and not sad. I am, as I mentioned, winded.

In this time of catching my breath I have been able to think and here's what I've come up with:

Four is better than three. There is another baby to love and it requires so much more of me to do so.
I am not the only one loving this baby though. In fact, he is getting loved from his father and his brother, too.

I cried rapids a few times over this next one.
I am unable to love my first son the same anymore.
Oh, wait for it, my heart hurt so much over this point I thought I'd never be the same.
But, God intervened graciously on my part and pointed out that the moon and the sun do not revolve around a mother's love. Thankfully, I have a husband who can snuggle and hold our boy while I nurse or change the baby. I saw this, of course. The extra bonding time for Dad and Son, but I still yearned for our time together that was lost.
Until I understood God more clearly. If it were just up to me to make my first son feel forever loved and entirely fulfilled, I would fail and fail miserably. I have a husband who loves me and who I vowed to make number one in my life. I didn't see how easily entangled my heart had become by also loving my first son so much. I could, quite literally, give that little boy everything I have and it would never seem like enough to me. Now, introduce baby number two and I am forced to divide my time even more.
I thought at first I couldn't do it.
I thought at first that I would surely fail.
But, now, I see the bigger picture.
God gave Oliver an older brother to play with, to laugh with, and to love.
They need each other already and it is the relationship they have and the one that will flourish, that will allow me to step aside. Not every day, and certainly not in everything, but little by little, as their needs are more in sync with one another and they can provide the joy that only one little boy can bring to his brother.