Half of my Instagram feed is expectant mamas, counting down the days until their family grows. I fell asleep last night remembering my days of sitting with an expanding stomach, listening to Ashlyn tell me about her day.
If she mentioned a class, my mind could recall the color of the folder needed, an event at lunch and I knew the time it began and how much extra it cost for juice. Life was calm enough that I could take in every detail and I was young enough that I could remember things.
With every rumble of the belly quickly covering my lap, I wondered if I would ever be all of this for her again.
Adding to the family would surely take away from her.
I imagined my heart dividing, dreaming the new babies would grasp on to what was hers, leaving her slighted.
As they entered the world I was in awe of the instant love. The same love that took me by surprise so many years before.
Days rolled forward and I loved every one of my children exactly the same and completely different and all at once.
Our time stumbled awkwardly at first, slowly stepping into a rhythm of almost quieted cries and nearly finished homework.
I was spread too thin and filled with contentment in the same exhausted breath.
As I loved one for determination and calm, I loved another for spirit and noise.
My heart never divided as I had feared, only multiplied in ways I could never have imagined.
And through the years of forgotten lunch money and pancakes for dinner, sharing bedrooms and almost matching pajamas
I have learned that the greatest things I could give my children…
is each other.
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