Baby #2 is due sometime in mid September, but with the way that this pregnancy has been going, it’s very possible that will show up before that. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, and I’ve been thinking about how little I’ve put into documenting her arrival.
We found out that we were pregnant with Abby when I was unemployed and stuck at home. I had a lot of time to dwell on her arrival, to marvel at Erin’s growing belly, to muse about this theoretical state of fatherhood into which I was about to enter. Abby was a paradigm shift, a force of nature, a storm cloud heavy with rain that sits just on the horizon. With nothing to do but unsuccessfully apply for jobs and write terribly unreadable novels, I could indulge in my obsession.
(Incidentally, I just finished Ryan Knighton’s C’mon Papa. It was another brilliant find from my SIL, and it made me feel better about my own struggles to be a good a father. Also, it’s fricking hilarious.)
This pregnancy has been very different. For starters, it was a surprise. No no, I don’t mean that the way people often mean it; this was not an “accident.” We were definitely trying for another baby, but with the significant time spent at the fertility clinic trying to get pregnant with Abby we had fully anticipated further visits and needles and ultrasounds and hormones. The concept of just “getting pregnant” was a bit foreign to us. I don’t think I really believed the tests and early ultrasounds until into the second trimester, when I could actually see Erin’s belly starting to grow again.
It’s been a bit of a blur since then. Abby keeps us both very, very busy (as, I suspect, most toddlers do), I’ve been working, Erin’s been working, and I’ve been finishing up my MEd. After the school year ended, I spent a few weeks trying to organize our house, clean up the backyard, reclaim the garage for a workout area, and learn how to use a Wacom tablet.
See, it’s happening again. Baby #2 is getting pushed to the background.
I am cognitively aware that I will have another child in the next month or two. I get that. But I can’t seem to get an emotional bead on it. I can’t seem to keep Baby #2 in my sights all the time, at least not the way that I did with Abby.
That just breaks my heart.
I know that I will love her every bit as much as I love Abby. I’m not worried about that. I just hate that when she looks back at my writing (I do this blog stuff for my kids as much as I do it for myself), she’ll see so little lead-up to her arrival, so little fanfare, so few journal entries about what she meant to me before she got here.