“I can’t believe she’s mine.”
This is a phrase I think all of the time when I see Kit.
I mean, of course I can believe it. After all, I was pregnant for what seemed like 67 years. And I’ve already had a baby. So this isn’t my first baby rodeo so I knew what I was in for.
I guess I have a habit of not really thinking too far ahead of things. But I just couldn’t picture the human being inside me.
And then she came and I met her and, well, I just can’t believe she’s mine.
I was at a party the other weekend and another mom was talking about her baby, who is around the same age as Kit. I learned she had two boys (via IVF) and then she became pregnant with her baby girl naturally.
“I can’t believe she’s mine,” she said to me with her eyes wide. (I know that facial expression. I have it too when people ask me about Kit.)
I’m not sure if it’s because she’s my second, or a girl, or what, but my obsession of the baby runs deep. I think it’s because, with Sam, I was desperate to keep my old identity while learning my new one. But with Kit, I realize it is fruitless. Although Kit is a more challenging baby than Sam was, parenting her is so much easier. Mainly because, with Sam, I tried so hard to retain my old, childless self; trying to parent with that mindset only caused anxiety and stress. But now I know that at least for me, the easiest and happiest way to parent is to fully resign yourself to it.
As a friend said, “I compare it to fighting a powerful invading army (first kid) or just shrugging your shoulders and letting it take over (second kid). Either way, you’ll lose, so why struggle?”
And, oh, that smile of hers. And her perfectly bald round head. She is just delicious and perfect.
I can’t believe she’s mine.