The night I went into labor, I was beyond excited. I felt good, I had time to take a shower, I was preparing myself mentally for what was about to happen.
I was calm. Cool. Collected.
Except for one thing.
When I watched my beautiful little girl sleep, I was overcome with tears. As much as we had looked forward to and prayed for a sibling, I had immense guilt in that moment that she would no longer be my only baby. The single center point of her Mommy's world.
I didn't want to wake her, but I also didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.
So I laid in bed with her, cradled that two-and-a-half year old body and told her how much I loved her. How lucky I was that God selected me to be her mommy. How much I'd treasured our time together. I hugged her and smelled her hair and held her precious little hands in my own, and tears just streamed down my face.
She never fully woke.
But I can't ever forget: I asked her if she was excited to have a baby brother, and the sweet thing smiled, nodded and muttered, "mmm-hmmm." Then she turned and snuggled into me.
There is something special about being the first, an she will forever be mine. I couldn't be more grateful for the incredible little person she is.