When we first started trying to get pregnant back in 2012, I think I was doing it because it's the next step. I like kids. I want kids. We're married. Let's go. I was 30 and my dreams of being a young mother were in the past, but we'd better get cracking or I might be having my first child past that magical age, 35, when they make you sign forms and submit to or refuse extra prenatal screening. The first miscarriage I had was devastating; the second and third were also. But if I had known how much I would love my baby, I wouldn't have been able to survive those miscarriages.
I had no idea how much I would love him. Sometimes I worry that I'll squeeze him too tight. When he got sick (or at least broke out in this horrific rash) and the doctor was worried enough to want to see him the next day (and not charge us for it), I felt so worried and helpless. Of course, it did help that Teddy was smiley and not feverish. I shudder to think what it will be like when he's really sick.
When he makes his "cry" face and his lip quivers and curls, I melt. (This will probably get me in trouble later.) When he smiles his gummy smile, I light up (inside). His giggle could stop wars. He is so sweet, and I can't wait to see what kind of kid he turns out to be.