When I was pregnant with my second baby I felt so detached from the whole process; so differently from my first glorious, glowing pregnancy that I worried so often that I would still feel no connection to the baby when he or she was placed on my chest for the first time. I couldn't comprehend just how I would be able to love another living creature as much as I loved my daughter. I couldn't imagine feeling that completeness of emotion be shared between two.
Now, as I sit, as I so often do - or at least as often as I get the opportunity - with my youngest daughter clasped firmly to my chest, her head resting against my cheek & her face full of innocence, laced with curiosity, yet somehow looking on with the dignified silence of someone with immeasurable wisdom - I wonder why that should be? - I feel, still, complete. I do not feel as though my love has been shared or stretched, I feel as though it has simply grown, yet all the while nothing has been taken from me. In fact I feel as though more has been given to me. 'Love' does not sum up what I feel for her & for her elder sister. 'Love' doesn't even touch upon it.
Her fine flash of downy auburn hair against my cheek is the softest sensation I have ever felt & when I move my face to bury my mouth & nose into her scalp her scent is one so delicious & complex - one that tells me she is made of me. It is different to that of my eldest daughter in a thousand ways yet somehow the same.
As I hold her, in whichever position she is pressed against me it feels as though she fits. I was made to carry her & she was made to be held by me, first inside & now out.
Everything about both my daughters is love. I feel incredibly humbled by the love they have for me as well as the feelings that encompass me when I have them near to me & the anxieties I feel when I don't.
It is not enough to say that they are my world, but I cannot describe it any other way.
They are my world, & everything more.