I wonder now, if through all the bump shots and the social media updates throughout my second pregnancy, people could sense my fear.
Fear that I couldn’t possibly voice to anyone.
Fear that utterly enveloped me.
Fear that I could never love another person in the way I loved my first child.
That my already bursting heart was filled to it’s capacity and was incapable of letting anyone else in. That I couldn’t split the love I already had and share it with another. If I did it would surely kill me.
How could I possibly multiply this love that can in no way be explained?
And if it couldn’t be multiplied, how could I divide it?
A love that was already attached with unbreakable bonds. This all-consuming feeling that leaves little room for any other.
A love bloomed through hazy days of soft newborn hair, skin and cuddles and nourished by kisses through tears and first experiences.
A love where nobody else matters.
Had I told someone how I felt, explained my thoughts, they may have smiled at me, and told me that, whilst in the grips of fear, I had made one foolish mistake.
I had assumed that a mother’s love had a limit. I had failed to recognise that it can expand, twist, turn and stretch immeasurably.
It can’t be taken hold of, or physically seen or touched. It possesses no colour or shape, and has no texture or sound. It just exists, infinitely. It can forever continue to swell and spread.
Yet had I been told this, I’m not sure I would have believed how exactly this was possible. Because it can’t be explained. It can only be felt, and my god do you feel it.
And in that brand new moment, when you hold your second child for the first time. Only then can you understand the amazing power of being a mother.
Louise was selected as a BISS guest blogger after entering our September linky. For your chance to write for GoodtoKnow, check out our Because I Said So platform.