Having children is a magnificent thing. You somehow through parenthood discover just how much you can love another person, and it grows you in ways you never imagined possible. It’s the most life altering yet rewarding job on the planet, but it also experiences a metamorphosis as you go along.
When you have your first child you’re like a clean pallet, and your parenthood persona is open to whatever the books tell you to do. You have ideas of how you want to go about parenting a kid, and for the most part you’re able to stick to your guns.
With my first daughter I held her a lot, and the thought of her crying made my heart break in two. I couldn’t imagine not scooping up that poor little dear every single time she whimpered. So I did.
I remember setting my alarm every two hours so that I couldn’t possibly sleep through a time when she should be feeding, and I would sit in the rocker with her all day if that’s what she desired.
By the second kid I was a bit more broken in, and I realized that setting my infant down for a moment wouldn’t crush her psychologically, or cause her to grow up to be an ax murderer. But still, with my second baby I managed to give her plenty of attention and affection despite being in charge of a toddler.
Then I decided to have a third child, and I’ll be quite frank; I had no idea. None. I was clueless as to how difficult it would be to parent three children simultaneously, and there’s been more than one instance where I’ve wondered what in the world I was thinking!
My third daughter didn’t stand a chance!
Surely with my time not only being halfed, but now being cut into thirds, she would be neglected. How in the world could I carve out the time that she not only required, but also deserved?
I remember with my first child I fell over the moon, big time, like crazy in love with her. It was insane! I never knew I could love someone so much. How could my third child compete with that?
She didn’t stand a chance.
But then one day as I went through the chore of rocking her I realized I was lingering in the chair. And as I looked at her sleeping face I couldn’t believe how much I loved her.
How can it be, was what I was wondering. How could it be that despite the time constraints at hand I somehow managed, and enjoyed adding another baby? How could it be that a heart so overflowing with adoration could love anymore?!
I didn’t understand how, yet there it was. I loved her. And I loved her just as much as the first child. And the second. I found her as strikingly beautiful as my other daughters, and I enjoyed holding her just the same.
Yes, caring for multiple children had grown more challenging, but it had also grown more fulfilling. My lap was full, but so was my life. It had stretched to a fullness I could only dream possible, and having another child proved to be like a dream come true.
That third child never stood a chance, but she has somehow successfully lassoed all of our hearts much like her predecessors had accomplished.
Perhaps I’m the one who never stood a chance. A chance of imagining how much more rewarding a third child could be.