Nine hours before I delivered my daughter, I lay in the reclined hospital bed, the beeping heart monitor the only noise in the dark, silent labor and delivery room.

Sobbing.

It felt like saying goodbye to part of my little boy, my sweet 22 month old only child. It had only ever been me and him–he was my buddy and I wasn’t sure if either of us was ready to share. This tiny new human was about to enter our lives and we would have to make room–was there room?

How could I love this new baby as much as I already loved my little boy?

When you only have one child, there’s no competition as far as attention goes. There is your spouse, but he needs attention differently, as do your friends and other family members and job and chores and you, etc. That doesn’t mean the other things are less important; it just means there is a time and place for it all (especially your spouse!) although as a mostly stay-at-home-mom with young kids, my attention is primarily focused on them.

They have a lot of needs. This is the season of life we are in.

Enter new baby, and all of a sudden my mornings at home are no longer slow, spent snuggling in bed with my son and giving him my undivided attention when he wants to play cars and holding him on my hip as we stir the dinner together. All of a sudden there is this new human in the equation who cannot stop the tears when she is hungry or lonely or cold and without my attention she would literally die. It feels like weighty stuff, y’all!

I didn’t want to share. My son didn’t want to share. And I was genuinely afraid that I wouldn’t feel the same about my daughter as I did my son.

Oh, you better believe I lay in that cold, hard bed and I cried. We had a rhythm, a way of life that was perfect–did it have to change?

A few hours later, my daughter made her debut. She was a tiny, wriggling ball of fuzzy hair and perfectly formed features. My daughter!  In that moment, all of my fears were forgotten, and I’ve got to be honest, my little boy waiting for me at home was also forgotten.

People have said your heart grows when you have another child and there’s really no better explanation because I didn’t think there was any more room to love another person as much as the family I already had. I was completely, overwhelmingly smitten.

For the next two days at the hospital I focused solely on new daughter and then finally the day came to take her home. We walked through our front door and my son took one look at us and burst out sobbing–even though he had come to visit at the hospital the night before, he had only just realized we had been gone the last three days, and thus began a month of incessant tears.

The hardest part was all the crying. My daughter cried because she was brand new and tiny and hungry; my son cried because he was confused and mama and daddy had divided attention; I cried because I was heartbroken watching both my children struggle to adjust to their new realities.

After a few days, my daughter settled into her routine–wake up, eat, stare at us with giant eyes, sleep, repeat–but my son continued to throw himself onto the floor and thrash and wail every time we said no, sometimes even entirely unprovoked. He would be his happy, normal self one moment, and in the next he would drop his toy and begin screaming.

I wondered where my sweet little curly-haired tot had gone.

Three or four weeks passed, and the meltdowns became fewer. We could tell him no and he would usually accept it.

Part of this was that as he was approaching two, he was learning to communicate and understand more effectively. His ability to control his own emotions was developing, and he had realized this new small human wasn’t going anywhere. Every day he was a little more himself and there were a few less tears.

Ten and a half weeks after my son met his baby sister for the first time, he’s cpmpletely back to his chatty, crazy, always-smiling self. He plays independently and obeys (usually) and our days run very smoothly, and now that his baby sister smiles and coos and love to stand and wriggle, she’s actually pretty fun!

As for my own adjustment?

I had to learn to juggle schedules. I had to learn to be okay with the chaos, the tears, and pee and spit up everywhere all the time. I had to learn to chase my son around Chic-fil-a and nurse my newborn at the same time. I had to learn how to get out of the house with two small children in less than two hours. I had to learn to divide my attention and prioritize. I had to learn to choose to laugh instead of cry.

But I never had to learn to love either of my children. My fears in the hospital were not unfounded but they certainly never came to pass.

And as for losing my only child? We couldn’t imagine our lives without our sweet little girl and also, she sleeps a lot so I have a good amount of time to devote my attention completely to my son.

God designed families to grow and change and you have a mothering instinct because if you didn’t the temptation to toss your kid out the window after a particularly tough day might be a little too much–you will adore your second child just as much as the first, even if you adore different things about them. Sure, there might be some jealously and confusion between children at first, but every family has dealt with this and every family has come out on the other side.

And you know what? I don’t feel the same about my daughter as I do my son–because she needs milk and snuggles and for me to hold her on my lap and talk to her and he has entirely different needs and his own personality. Both my kids are unique and that is a beautiful thing.

Dear mama, your fears are oh so important, and they are valid, and adjusting to two has not come without its difficulties, but your children are strong. Your husband is strong. You, dear mama, are strong! Stronger than the fears and doubts and lack of sleep.

You can do this. Your family can do this. Take heart, and most of all, breathe it all in when it happens.

You have so got this, mama.