As you may have noticed, I’ve welcome a new addition to my family, a baby girl named Abigail Grace.
Her character is different than my son Jackson already. She’s less fussy, a little more laid back, but certainly into her food. Although perfectly formed, she does not share her mommy’s eyes or her maternal great-grandmother’s eyelashes like Jackson. Instead, she remarkably resembles a female cousin on my dad’s side of the family. She was born with hair…quite a bit for an infant, considering Jackson was bald until he was nearly one.
One thing, however, remains constant. I love the little booger more than I thought possible.
When Jackson was born, I didn’t know what was coming. I had no idea what would be involved with late night feedings, dirty diapers, sacrifices of time, and sheer exhaustion. I had confidence that I could work through it (and I did), but I didn’t expect to be so completely smitten. I knew what was coming this time, but I was afraid that I would unconsciously short-change Abigail in the love department. I know this sounds irrational if you’re an experienced parent, but consider the depth of love you have for your children, and then imagining that multiplying. I couldn’t fathom that until it happened.
Things have settled down into a little bit of a routine around here, so I should be back to regular posting. In the meantime, I’ll continue to enjoy the blessing of a new child while trying to still the inner voice that rails against the lost time. After all, is it really lost?