Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Only-Child Expiration


I've been pretty emotional lately, thinking about Emmalyn no longer being an only child, and how our moments of just “Emmy-&-Me” are fleeting. Really, just thinking about it now—to type these words—is sending me into basket-case mode. It seems selfish to say I'm “mourning” the loss of her being an only-child, when we are about to welcome such an incredible gift into our family, but that's how I feel. I never imagined or wanted Emmalyn to be an only-child, and having another baby is a blessed miracle come true, but I can't help but feel insanely emotional over it. Maybe it's because I'm an only-child, and I'm losing this 'piece' Emmalyn and I share together? I'm not sure...

With more-or-less than five weeks to go until we become a family of four {say, what?!?}, I'm desperately trying to make extra lovey-dovey and exciting memories; and freeze these moments, engraving them deep into my marrow. We even went out for ice cream, which if you know me personally, is a big deal for me because I only let Emmalyn eat ice cream at birthdays. I'm carrying this huge bag of guilt around, and am finding myself becoming a pushover when it comes to my soon-to-be Biggest Girl. I want to do everything I can to make her the happiest she can be in these last few weeks of being an Only Child.


Like the other day... I really didn't want to walk to the park because my big 'ole belly makes me feel like I'm carrying around permanent 50-lb. weights, but Emmalyn wanted to and I wanted to make her happy. Taking her to the pool by myself over the weekend was also physically exhausting, but the pure look of giddiness on her face and the sound of her non-stop laughter was simply magical. I traded in my permanent weights for a permanent smile across my own face. It made every ache and pain in my pregnant body 100x worth it.

I've almost stopped complaining about laying in her bed (for sometimes up to an hour) while she falls asleep, and instead, sit there in silence, replaying her beautiful smile over and over in my head. I know the moments of catching her in a peaceful slumber are becoming less and less frequent. I try to remember her little idiosyncrasies, like how I have to turn every!single!page! in the book at the end even if there aren't any words or pictures on these pages. Or how her pillow has to be placed just so in order to lay her little blonde head down. Or how she has to pick out the "right" silverware to eat from. The list goes on and on...

I never want to forget these moments with her. 

For the past three-and-a-half years, Emmalyn has been my life—my “best girl,” as I say to her. And in five weeks, her world will be flipped upside down and she will have to share that title. A part of me is sad for her--to have to give up a part of her time with me to share with her little sister. Some days I'm just not ready. Then there's the other part of me who couldn't be more ecstatic to witness my two girls become the best of friends, each other's maid of honors, and partners in crime (even if that involves lying to me and sneaking behind my back)!


I know she's a happy child and her love-tank is filled. This is only the beginning of some pretty amazing memories being made, so I know I shouldn't feel guilty. I know it. I do. But I can't help it. I find myself terribly teary-eyed throughout the day (damn hormones!) over how incredible my little girl is. 

She's the light in my life; what makes my world so perfect. She's the greatest gift I've ever been given, and I love her more than anything else in the world.

loyally,
katie


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