Ellis is here. Phil and I have waited for him for so long, feeling his kicks and wiggles through my belly. We sang to him and read him stories as we lay together on the couch, Phil's head resting on my lap and his words moving through the womb cushioning our little peanut. As I tried to fall asleep each night, tossing and turning thanks to all the discomforts of pregnancy, I felt our baby's hiccups shake my whole middle. Sometimes I laughed, pressing my hands against my watermelon belly--other times I lay still and hoped he would stop soon, so that both of us could get some sleep.
As the due date drew closer, we became excited and (in my case) secretly impatient for labor to start. We wondered what our son would look like, who he would be.
Now he's here, and those words still feel unreal. Our son.
It has been the most amazing month ever--and yet, at the same time, the most difficult. Apparently, even when your baby is born, you don't magically become a super-mom with flawless breastfeeding technique, baby-soothing powers, and the ability to wake up fresh-faced and cheerful on two hours of sleep.
I'm quickly realizing how difficult it is to be a parent, what an insane and time-consuming job it is--the world's most obvious secret. Of course, I knew it wouldn't be easy. I knew it would mean totally abandoning my own desires, putting Ellis's needs before my own.
But until it actually happened, I had no idea how HARD it would be.
(Plus, the postpartum blues are a real thing. I broke down crying because I thought Ellis's bathwater for his first bath had been too cold; I panicked when he got a cold after two weeks, blaming myself, my heart pounding fast with every cough and sniffle.)
But it was all worth it--the morning sickness and heartburn, the wild storm of emotions, the intensity of labor without any pain medications, the stitches and week-long recovery, the jiggly tummy that still remains five weeks after delivery.
It's all worth it still. The miserable first few weeks of breastfeeding, when his latch made me grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut against tears. The long nights of sleep caught in desperate snatches--forty-five minutes here, a half hour there. The moments when I'm so tired that I can do nothing except sit and breathe.
Because Ellis was only the size of a poppyseed, a tiny promise, and now he's dozing in his crib.
Because our son has his daddy's nose and his mama's lips, and rock star hair, and the cutest big dark eyes I've ever seen.
Because there is nothing more humbling than knowing that this tiny, sweet baby looks to us for everything--needs us, trusts us, loves us unconditionally.
I pray that, whoever he becomes, wherever he goes, Ellis will always know he is loved--by us, by his grandparents and aunts and uncles, and most of all, by the God of all creation.
And I pray for help and grace in this journey--I'm definitely going to need it. :)
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