I never knew for sure if I had a very strong bent toward mothering a baby. I knew I wanted to be a mother, but I think it was more of an expected part of my life than a passionate dream. And babies in general had never really done that much to stir my heart.
But after having done it three times and found my greatest happiness ever in its many ups and downs, I feel beside-myself giddy for Charity and the achy-wonderful that’s awaiting her.
This is the very time of year that I was nesting for my first baby. He was due nine years ago today. All those sweet empty things waiting for his arms and legs – like the crib and cradle and bunting – crowded all throughout our tiny apartment.
This time of year is the anniversary for that happiness. It’s not that I’ve forgotten the midnight feedings and baby blues and (regrettable) stress over whether or not I was doing nap-time correctly and feeding him at the proper intervals. It’s just that the happiness so far exceeds these. I know Charity will have her moments, her tears, her own regrettable stress. But she will also have those moments where she will know she never truly lived before them.
I would never tell someone who cannot conceive that they cannot truly live. And I would never tell someone who has made the choice not to have children that they are wrong. I’m just saying that I really agree with the person who wrote a thought like this, which Charity recently read: Babies are such a cool way to start people.