The only child(ren)

I've been thinking a lot about parenting lately. Not sure if I'm doing it right or not, but at least I get two shots at it. Maybe I'll only screw one of them up.

I feel like I should probably play with Charlotte more, but sitting for hours on those teeny tiny wooden chairs that  fit half my butt is unbearable. Sitting on the carpet is good for about ten minutes before my sciatic nerve tells me to get the hell up and then aches for days. The (fake) wood floor is also out of the picture. But this isn't about sitting. It is about getting the most out of my child, my ONLY child, for the next one-hundred-and-some-odd days.

I have moments of holy shit, what did I do to my daughter, to my family, and to my relationship with my husband and to myself (my body included). I think that I'm not ready for this on a daily, or hourly, or minutely basis. And then I think about two. One in my arms and one's arms flailing about on the playground and I know I made the right choice. But this isn't about two. This is about one.

The one who changed me and made me a parent and all I want do is snuggle her and kiss her and tell her I'm sorry. Much like I told Ollie (our dog) that I was sorry when we left to the hospital to have Charlotte. My one baby isn't my one baby anymore.  I've learned to mourn the loss of Charlotte growing into a child, and now I'm going to mourn the loss of Charlotte being my only baby.

I think this is just guilt and I'll get over it. I know that. But I don't know how to do two. I can do one just fine. Play and teach and snuggle and love. But this isn't about one.

This is about two.