I am an avid tennis fan…and I’m so excited to be watching the French Open again! Personally, I’m in love with Rafael Nadal, and I truly despise Roger Federer. I’m so glad to see Rafa back in top form and ready to reclaim his title (that Federer won last year by default). I also still love watching Andy Roddick…but clay just isn’t his surface. As for the women…I hate Justine Henin, and I’m definitely rooting for the Williams sisters.
This afternoon (after his nap), Micah came downstairs to hang out with me for a bit – he took one look at the tennis on the tv and broke out into a huge grin. He started pointed at the screen and clapping, and saying….”bah-ball.” Yes, according to Micah, all balls, and all games played with a ball, are, by definition, basketball. Okay, we’ll have to work on that part, but he did love watching tennis. He sat snuggled up with me and we watched Roddick play today. He screamed “Whoa” when they hit the ball, and “boom” when the ball hit the net. He clapped when they scored points, and he screamed with joy when the players got into nice long rallies. Yes, I think I’m grooming a tennis fan, much to his daddy’s chagrin. His daddy was so worried that he removed Micah from the tennis and took him grocery shopping.
This morning, the babysitter came to help take care of Micah. She arrived at 9:00 this morning, but could only stay until 1:00. She fed him breakfast and got him dressed, took him to play at the park, fed him lunch then put him down for a nap. During that time, I managed to pack my hospital bag, shovel out the bedroom from a bunch of junk, and make Elliot clean up his junk, too. It feels so much better to have made a dent in the mess. I also got a bunch of work done. I really like having the extra help around right now!
Yesterday, I took my dog to the vet – her breathing was very labored again, and her hacking cough had returned. I was fairly certain that fluid was backing up in her lungs again. The doctor examined her and agreed. The good news was that there was only *some* fluid in her lungs. He decided to double her dosage of Lasix for the next two weeks. If she does well, then he will try to reduce the dosage again and see if she will maintain that way. I am supposed to take her back for another re-check either Wednesday or Friday.
Micah has been talking up a storm lately. He is starting to put words together (like “Hi there”). He knows a bunch of body parts (head, foot, belly, tongue, mouth, nose, eyes). He is saying the word “more” now (he used to just sign it), and he definitely says “hi” and “bye-bye” all the time. He is recognizing animals more and more, and he knows a bunch of the sounds animals make – his favorites are “quack” and “moo.” He loves to watch the birdies, and he is still a huge kissy-monster. He climbs all over the furniture and runs laps around the house.
I have to say, I am going to miss this time with Micah as my only child. I’m so excited to meet Twoey and get to know her, and I’m excited to see Micah become a big brother. But, at the same time, I sometimes wish I had more time with just Micah as my only focus. I love how we snuggle, and I love our time alone together in the mornings. I adore him – I truly think he is the cutest, sweetest thing that ever walked the earth, and I am just filled with love for him. I know I will love Twoey every bit as much as Micah, and I know there will be plenty of room in my life for both of them. But, this time with just Micah is special, and in a way, I know it will be a loss for both of us – it will never again be just the two of us, and I guess I’m sorry that I can’t give more of this special time to him.
I saw this posted online this week, and it really struck me…I think it articulates many of my fears about expanding our family, and perhaps my hope for how it will be:
Walk along holding your 4-year-old hand, basking in the glow of our magical relationship. Suddenly I feel a kick from within, as if to remind me that our time alone is limited. And I wonder: how could I ever love another child as I love you?
Then he is born, and I watch you. I watch the pain you feel at having to share me as you’ve never shared me before.
I hear you telling me in your own way, “Please love only me.” And I hear myself telling you in mine, “I can’t,” knowing, in fact, that I never can again.
You cry. I cry with you. I almost see our new baby as an intruder on the precious relationship we once shared. A relationship we can never quite have again.
But then, barely noticing, I find myself attached to that new being, and feeling almost guilty. I’m afraid to let you see me enjoying him—as though I am betraying you.
But then I notice your resentment change, first to curiosity, then to protectiveness, finally to genuine affection.
More days pass, and we are settling into a new routine. The memory of days with just the two of us is fading fast.
But something else is replacing those wonderful times we shared, just we two. There are new times – only now, we are three. I watch the love between you grow, the way you look at each other, touch each other.
I watch how he adores you — as I have for so long. I see how excited you are by each of his new accomplishments. And I begin to realize that I haven’t taken something from you, I’ve given something to you. I notice that I am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both of you. I find that my love for each of you is as different as you are, but equally strong. And my question is finally answered, to my amazement. Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you—only differently.
And although I realize that you may have to share my time, I now know you’ll never share my love. There’s enough of that for both of you – you each have your own supply.
I love you—-both. And I thank you both for blessing my life.
I used to watch tennis in the early 90s ALL the time; I could name everyone then. I’m so not up on it now but I want to be. I read a great article in an airplane magazine about Rafa and his uncle (do I have the right guy?) who trained him. One time his uncle warned him that if he EVER broke his raquete on the court the uncle would stop training him because in that instant he would have disrespected everyone who ever played and especially everyone who was of lesser means.