Time

I feel like everything is getting away from me. Nate is getting so big and grown-up, and I'm scared I won't remember the way he looked and acted, since I'm already forgetting how he was just weeks ago. I keep pushing Stewart to take more photos and more video. I don't want to forget a single second, and I know I'm going to. Sigh.

Right now, he's stuck between smiling these huge grins and laughing. I know the laugh is coming, but he just doesn't do it yet. I'm already one of those parents - I wanted him to smile, and he does. Now I'm pushing him to do the next thing! Nothing ever satisfies these demanding parents.

I was talking with a friend today about our deliveries. We both had tough ones, in different ways. I was telling her about the details, and it all came crashing in how incredibly sad I am about the day Nate was born. I feel shockingly sorrowful about everything I missed out on. When they finally pulled him out, all I felt was relief that it was over. When he wasn't crying, I wasn't scared. When they brought him around the screen, I was happy to see him, but I was still so freaked out about the surgery. I don't remember his first cry. I don't remember nursing him for the first time. Most: I wish, wish, wish I could have seen him be born.

I'm not too sentimental, and I'm surprised at how raw I feel about this. I would do almost anything to go back and experience it differently. I keep asking Stewart - you really didn't see him come out of me? And he didn't. He was busy keeping me sane, and I don't resent him for it for a moment. But I can't believe our son was born without the deep rejoycing that the moment deserved. I can't believe that he was quiet and not breathing, and I wasn't praying for him every second. I can't believe that I missed it all.

I'm sorry, Nate. If I had known then what I know now, I would have gotten over my stupid panic and spent every second thinking about you.