More Than Hormones

Becoming a mother has changed me in many ways beyond what I do with my day or the shape of my body. I could blame some of these changes on hormones, but I know they're more than that. I am now connected to a large group of women who are also mothers. I sympathize with them and find myself feeling what I imagine they are feeling--laughing and rejoicing when I hear stories of preemie babies coming home from the hospital or children saying their first words or taking their first steps, crying when I hear of children with debilitating diseases or who pass away just as they're getting their start in life.

I heard a story the other night on the news of a two-year-old killed in a freak accident with a car. The series of events was so incredible and statistically impossible. All I could do was cry. There was nobody at fault here, yet this poor mother will never again get to hold her baby. She will eternally blame herself for what happened and play the "what if" game. What if she hadn't left him in the car alone for those few seconds? What if he'd been sitting in a different seat in the car? What if that bike hadn't been there?

I am actually tormented by this story, knowing how easily the impossible could happen to any of us, even my own sweet son. Every time I remember the horror of this story, I can only hug my own baby tighter and beg God to never let that happen to him. How can I feel so sad for this mother I don't even know yet so relieved nothing like that has happened to me? That is one of my greatest fears right now--that something bad, something life-altering could happen to my baby. More and more I have to refrain myself from checking on him any time he makes a noise I'm not expecting, even if it's completely normal. I experience a tiny twinge of fear every time I creep into his room when he's sleeping, afraid I'm not going to see his little chest rise and fall like I expect. The fear is by no means debilitating, but as each day passes and I fall more and more in love with him, I grow just that more fearful that something could happen to take him from me before he's lived a full life.

Then I remember how many miracles have been sent his way already in his short life. He shouldn't have been able to be conceived when he was; he should have been miscarried--probably at two different times; he shouldn't have been born acting like a normal baby two months early. We thought he was going to have eye problems, probably a lazy eye and possibly even blindness in one eye; instead the eye specialist couldn't find the original problem. One miracle after another have turned Patrick from a merely a dream into a perfect baby. If God didn't intend for him to live a full life, then why did He bother sending miracle after miracle to save him? Although I know the logic isn't flawless, looking at the situation from this perspective puts those fears into perspective too. If I didn't fear for his life as I was pushing him out unexpectedly two months early, then there's no reason to fear now either. I hope that I'm right, that the greatest struggles of his life were fought before he was born. So far, that seems to be the case. Just look at my well-adjusted baby playing with his daddy...
...and snuggling with his daddy. I love seeing this as much as Matt loves being a part of it.