As we said goodbye to my sister over the weekend, she mentioned how sad it is that the next time she will see Matilda she will be something completely different. She won't make the same silly faces, she won't get excited about the same things, and she won't be a baby.
I hear the words "Matilda is at such a fun age right now" echo every month as I convince myself that growing up is perfect, precious, and punctual.
I need Matilda to get me excited that she is becoming this amazing little toddler who loves to walk, jump on the couch, look through books, and stare out the window. As thankful as I am that Matilda is still growing beautifully, I want to keep her a baby for as long as I can. Because right now having more children is not on the table.
I didn't expect that she would be my last pregnancy. I didn't expect that she would be the last baby I would nurse. I didn't expect to skip the newborn period of mothering my last baby. Why is it that when my expected memories don't match the reality of my actual memories I can't seem to let go?
I had so many grand ideas of how Matilda's newborn months would go. I had all the right equipment, I had the right experience, I was ready to take on anything with ease. But again, what I was required to take on had nothing to do with anything I had ever expected. And all of that is still really hard. Thinking that she is my last is really hard.
I still go through moments of anger, sadness, and guilt. And yet, I believe that I have no right to feel any of those things because Matilda is alive. In fact, I feel horribly greedy with the idea of wanting. I have been gifted two beautiful children. And so I push forward. Thankful and blessed. But in denial that Matilda is no longer a baby.
