I was lying on Aidan’s bed just now as he slept under the crook of my armpit. It was quiet in the room, with only the sounds of the air-conditioning and Brahms Lullaby on repeat mode. He was still, on his side, arms cradling his little bolster and one hand on my belly. I didn’t dare to move an inch.
Suddenly, my belly jumped. Ah, Two. My second child who is most active when I am still. Unlike his/her brother, who used to be a one-baby circus act in my womb. I laid my other hand on top of where the flurry of activity was and breathed.
Having gone through those two years of infertility, I am acutely aware that my two babies are nothing short of a miracle and a blessing. How many can say that they conceived a child naturally, after failing eight rounds of treatments? Plus, Two came to us so quickly and so unexpectedly, despite my initial pessimism and fear.
Every day with my two beautiful children – one growing so rapidly in front of my eyes and the other’s kicks growing stronger in utero – is a reminder of how lucky I am. And every day, I tell myself that.
Never mind that Aidan doesn’t sleep through the night and needs one of us to be with him.
Never mind that he sometimes refuses dinner and tosses everything out of his high chair.
Never mind that I no longer have the luxury of reading to Two or simply enjoy the primeval act of carrying a child when every spare moment I have is spent with Aidan.
Never mind that I am always exhausted and have no time for the things that I want to do.
I am a lucky, lucky woman.
I suppose it is doubly poignant now that I am pregnant with my second, and last, child. This will be the last time I carry a child in my womb, to feel my baby’s kicks and hiccups from within. Everything that I feel now will never be felt again.
And so I laid there for an extra moment. To breathe in my little man’s sleepy scent and to enjoy the funny tap dance that my baby is putting up in my tummy.