Being pregnant with Baby #2 has ushered in a surge of unexpected feelings, and I’m not just talking about my disappointment in my ever-weakening bladder. A bladder that could once hold a 12-pack of Heineken plus my entire Prince CD collection, I kid you not — all of which made me quite popular at parties.
These days I’m lucky if I can hold a gulp of OJ. Which makes me quite unpopular during car rides. (Either pull over now or hand me that Snapple bottle* dammit!)
Most poignantly of all, I am overwhelmed by a feeling of protectiveness toward my relationship with Miss Skye. I often become sad that our days as a threesome are numbered, and that my attention is going to be divided, and, most importantly, that I will no longer be able to dance to Barney songs with Skye at any given moment. Because that girl LOVES to dance, let me tell you, making me hold her hand as though we’re waltzing and rewind “If You’re Happy and You Know it” ten-million-and-two times, to the point that my arms and legs are quivering and I feel like singing, “If You’re Too Old For This and You Know It, Grab Your Cane!”
I cherish those times with her. Quivering limbs and all.
I do not doubt for a second that my heart has the capacity to love Baby Boy Freedom just as much as Miss Skye, or that becoming a foursome will come with its own special moments, but for now…? I cannot help but hug my daughter for an extra beat and succumb to a nagging feeling of guilt. And right on cue, Baby Boy Freedom will invariably kick in the direction of Skye — almost without fail — as if to say Hey there, Big Sis! Well, either that, or Get away, woman. That’s MY mom!
In the interest of assuaging my guilty conscience, let’s just say it’s the former, shall we?
It doesn’t help that Skye is — Mr. Candy will totally back me up on this one — a shameless Mama’s Girl. Almost embarrassingly so. At least for now. This, to the chagrin of all the people who believe girls should be a “Daddy’s Girl,” while mothers should favor their sons. You would not believe all the folks who, after witnessing Skye throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me, have clucked:
“Oh, it won’t stay that way. Girls ALWAYS love their daddy more.”
Those people are lucky I didn’t have my cane with me. Otherwise, it may have accidentally landed on their heads.
Feeling all guilty and gooey and sentimental and weepy and hormonal and all, I asked Mr. Candy to take some overdue mother-and-daughter photos this past weekend. You know, to capture the tender side of our relationship.
On the bright side, we have our next picture for the Laughing Stork masthead.