enter TWO, stage right

My vag was definitely broken this time. I sat on ice and chewed some percocets. A volunteer pushed me and my wheelchair into a room on the recovery floor.

“She’s huge!” I’d said an hour earlier. Followed quickly by, “She looks…kind of purple…is she okay?”

She was fine.

Delivery was fast. Nothing mussed. I felt great.

Our hellos weren’t as dramatic and romantic as they were the last time I was in the delivery room. The staff whisked TWO out of the room as soon as she finished nursing.

And that was that.

Later that day, when TWO was carted into my room, she was crying. That tiny, weak little bird cry that lasts a week or so before they discover their lungs.

The nurse parked the plastic drawer next to my bed. I leaned over my new, round baby and whispered, “Mama’s here…”

She stopped crying and opened her eyes. She looked right at me. It wasn’t real eye contact since she couldn’t see that far and I’d actually maneuvered my head so that it would be right where her eyes tried to focus.

But it was wonderful.

I lifted her out, declined any help and laid her on my chest. Swaddled like a wad of chewing gum, she should have been completely immobile. But she squirmed until her head was under my chin.

And then she went to sleep.

I pulled the blanket over us and slept with her.

The staff was determined to get me home early the next morning so that I could celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. I was determined to stay at the hospital for my full two days.

I knew what was waiting for me at home. It was not quiet or private and it would including sharing TWO (and myself).

No thanks.

Minus the broken vag, the obvious age difference and our related bloodline, it was like a honeymoon. We spent the whole time cuddled under the blankets. She smiled on her second day. I knew it wasn’t a purposeful smile, she was too young. But I got a glimpse of the expression she’d master two weeks later that now defines her personality.

It’s not surprising that a little person changes things. But it is surprising what they change and how quickly it happens.

How her happiness and disposition immediately stirred the chemistry of our family.

How much more pleasant and manageable ONE became.

How much easier it was to get two girls in and out of public settings.

How much more relaxed we all are.

How much more we laugh.

I know I’m not “supposed” to look to my girls to meet needs in my life. But sometimes I do. Not on purpose, but it happens.

After being yanked out of my selfishness by challenges and behavior that tested the limits before I was prepared to enforce rules and a happiness that flipped with the emotions of a strong-willed child, I was tired.

And then along came this little person who kicked with excitement when she heard my voice.

Who smiled so big that her pacifier dropped to the mattress as I lifted her from the crib.

Who was cool to hang in a sling, or kick back in her stroller and just watch things.

Who didn’t need constant holding or soothing or attention, but guarded me fiercely from other babies who might get a little too close.

Who said “Mama” at 6 months old, and now at one, is uninterested in adding any other words to her vocabulary.

Who carried books over to me as soon as she could walk and backed into my lap for a story.

Always happy to be there.

Deciding to have a second child was scary. Not blissful and romantic; there was no ignorance attached.

No nursery to build.

No registry.

No dreams.

No time.

But one year ago today, we were rewarded with TWO.

The best decision we ever made.