Exactly one year ago, Adelaide Elizabeth Knight was born.
I’ll post pictures of her birthday/Memorial Day barbeque party later, but for now, I’m in the mode of remembering last year…
Like I mentioned before, we waited a long time for her. People who have never experienced that kind of wait and frustration will never understand what that’s like, even if they’d like to sympathize. I had never considered myself “baby hungry”, and I didn’t always get excited about seeing other people’s babies, like most girls. But the personal struggle was hard, and Jesse and I felt like, as awesome as our life was (and it really was…looking back, I wouldn’t trade those first 4 ½ years for anything), something was definitely missing.
It was pretty surreal when I first found out. It was around our four-year wedding anniversary, and I got to give Jesse the best present ever: a little bib that said “I love Daddy.”
From then on, pregnancy was easy and pleasant. (You think I’m lying, but I’m really not.) The day Addie was born was eventful and memorable, but not horrible, like I imagined. It was pleasant. I remember sitting in the hospital, the day we were getting ready to go home, and just crying, looking at her cute little face. I wondered if she would ever know how much she was wanted and wished for.
The doctor stopped in to visit while I was getting my things together, and said, “Just be aware that people get sad after having babies. It’s normal.” I just smiled and said, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.” After all, pregnancy had been easy. Labor and delivery were, if not easy, not that hard. I seemed to handle hormonal changes with ease (nothing really whacks me out, almost ever). Everything had been easy.
The following weeks were not.
Addie cried a lot in her first couple of months of life. A lot. Suddenly, I cried a lot too. I didn’t know how to deal with life. I cried because Addie cried. I cried because I was frustrated. I cried because I didn’t get to sleep much. And sometimes, I even cried because I suddenly realized what I had given up, the life and freedom Jesse and I no longer had because of the tiny creature that I so often could not soothe.
My family was great during those weeks. One time, I almost started crying (in fact, I probably did) when my sister Kate came over and asked me how I was doing (not the baby, which everyone usually was concerned with) and how I was handling the changes. For some reason, I was resenting the fact that I didn’t really matter anymore, and I appreciated that Kate showed concern for me. (Not that no one else did, mind you, but “hormone-addled” is the best term I can come up with to describe how I felt during those weeks.)
But what started to save me was when a good neighbor stopped by (even though I didn’t really like seeing people for awhile) and commiserated about the post-partum experience. It started to dawn on me that I wasn’t broken or ungrateful. And what became a sort of lifeline for me was the darling girls in my “FTM” club (First-Time Moms). They helped me see that it would get better, that I wasn’t a bad mom, and offered the positive direction I didn’t really know I needed so badly. I don’t think those girls really know how much they saved me, and I don’t really think I ever said a proper thank you for it. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You know who you are.
I wouldn’t have known from Addie’s fussy beginnings that she would turn into the most perfect of perfect babies ever. From about two months on, she’s been nothing but a delight. She’s actually made it so easy (we’re back to that word!) on us, that we’re utterly spoiled.
We love her so much. I wouldn’t trade her and the experience of being her mom for all the trips to Paris in the world that you could throw at me.
So, Happy Birthday Adelaide!
