There was a moment. I think it was right after that final push, when my baby... a girl?!?!?... emerged and they put her on my chest. I sobbed - relieved, overwhelmed, overjoyed - eternally and instantaneously transformed. One second I was me, then the next I was more; I was a mommy.
I remember wondering both times I was pregnant, "How will I know what to do?"
"You just know," someone told me.
I'm still blown away by the fact that she was right.
Prior to January 2004, I could sleep through anything... everything. I couldn't be aroused, couldn't be disturbed and certainly couldn't HEAR anything once my head hit the pillow. But the moment I brought my baby girl home... amazingly, I could still sleep through everything but one thing: my child. Suddenly, I could hear her breathe, hear her sigh, hear her cry - all the way down the hall, behind a closed door. I was a mommy, and I could hear my baby.
Tonight, as my son was half asleep, fishing for his passy, in his room across the house, I could hear and feel him. I was roused from the deepest of sleep, to help my son. We shared a brief, sweet moment just now. I loved on him, put him back down, and he drifted back to sleep. I just knew.
Sometimes, I still can't believe that I have two children. I'll see or hear them, then realize, "Those are mine?!?!?" I'm a mommy. I'm THEIR mommy. I hear my kids. When they are upset, in the depths of my being, I know what to do. I am wired to love them how they need to be loved. We are connected. I hear and feel them from across the room, or around the corner, or down the hall...
Recently a friend asked me, "So, how do you know what to do?"
Without even thinking about it, I responded. "You just know."
I am absolutely in awe that God put this in me. Absolutely in awe.
OK, back to bed.