When you first announce a pregnancy, you’ll almost always hear something along the likes of: you have no idea how much you’ll love this child. I heard a version of this at least a dozen times. And don’t get me wrong, the moment that the doctor placed Lucy on my chest was easily the best moment of my life. A potent mixture of love, disbelief, and pure joy coursed through my body.
I loved Lucy but it wasn’t exactly like I’d been told…my love for her didn’t overwhelm me….and there were some days when I questioned if I was doing something wrong.
Lucy is eight months old now, and she can do so many things. She crawls everywhere and pulls herself up on everything she can get her hands on. Her highchair, our coffee table, my legs, our baby-gate. She talks with us now saying consonants like “da-da, na-na, ma-ma.” She still wants nothing more than for me to snuggle and nurse her during the night. I haven’t slept a solid eight hours in over eight months, and I’m okay with it. In fact, I’m thankful for those beautifully quiet moments we still share.
We go to mom and me yoga on Wednesdays, which we both love. We take long walks when the weather allows. We snuggle together in the morning, and we nurse, again and again, at night. She’s eight months old and means the world to both of us. We are so blessed to have her in our lives.
