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by Catherine Gilkey
It's 3:35 a.m. and the baby is awake. Again. For what feels like the millionth time that night, I drag myself out of bed and trudge to her room. I pick her up and sigh.
"You're only six months old? When is this baby part going to end," I ask, frustrated as she roots for the breast, again. My days are nights are full of feedings, diaper changes and sleep issues.
I settle into the rocker and watch her as she dozes back off to sleep. Sleep beckons to me too, and I hover somewhere between awake and asleep. My brain drifts back to a year ago. I am pregnant, feeling those early flutters of baby movement, excited and scared. Having a baby means a huge disruption, more worry and stress. Will this baby affect our marriage? And can I love this baby as much as I love our older child? It doesn’t seem possible, since he is the light of our lives already.
I start to think about life two years ago, when I had no baby, and we were desperately trying to conceive. It had been almost two years since we had started trying to have our second child. I sat in the doctor's office and heard that ugly word: Infertility. I was infertile. He tells me the chance of percent of us conceiving a child on our own are in the single digits. It was more than I could bear, and I cry. I cry for us, I cry for our son who would be an only child, and I cry for the baby who was not meant to be that we lost months before.
The pain of that struggle wells up inside and it feels like I’m back there again, only to be jolted back to reality when a little hand reaches out to grab my finger. I wake back up, and peer down at this child, asleep in my arms. So little, yet she's affected so much change already. I think of our older child, who will be up in a few hours to get ready to go to kindergarten. It seems like yesterday I was rocking him to sleep. I wonder where the past fives years have gone, and wonder what the next five years will bring. Though she's asleep and I could lay her down and crawl back into bed, I rock her a few more minutes.
"Are you already six months old," I ask again. "Don't be a hurry to grow up. You can stay my baby as long as you'd like."
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