Then began the new wanting. The true wanting to be a mother. There was this calling, I could feel it deep in the beating of my heart, I needed to have a baby. I needed to raise one. This was what I was made to do. There was nothing sweet and easy about it, and I had to have it. This was true desperation.
In this instance, I believe, my insistence on how very much I wanted this kept me going: I had spilled milk for one dead baby, and I would nurse this one through hell or highwater. But there were other moments where my grief sent me into a confused tailspin; wondering whether I was truly made for mothering after all.
And I know that's not true, that I can miss her and feel worthy of Liam and still want some shut-eye.
I am thinking of this primarily because my doll of a two year old girl has been having me run in circles lately. She is fragile, despondant, irritable, demanding, irrational, needy, and independent all at the same time. Every now and then I get a giggle out of a child who, three months ago, smiled all day long and cried only when she was hurt. It is breaking my heart to see her struggling through the crisis of being two-and-a-half, sleep deprived and cutting molars, constantly frustrated with me and constantly too frustrated (and perhaps overtired) to put her precocious verbal skills to good use and tell me what she needs to be happy.
Still, I do remember crying to Greg one night, when Liam was in the thick of this himself and I also had a six month old Aoife to care for; I said to Greg, I hardly enjoy spending time with him anymore, we fight all day long. So I know it happened, and I know that now he is just the most amazing little friend I could ever hope to spend my day with. So this too shall pass.
(us Thursday while Liam rode in the chopper)
Oh, remember this? (of course you don't, but I do... she NEVER stopped smiling).