February is the longest month. Oh, I know technically it has the least amount of days, or so they say. I think that they sneak hours into each and every day somehow. Because the month of February drags on like no other.
My second son was born on February 29th. Yes, one of those lucky Leap Year babies. I still remember how the days ticked by at an impossibly slow rate. I remember spending the month worried about winter storms, drives to the hospital, and who was going to watch my 15-month-old son.
Most of all I remember being worried that I couldn't love another baby as much. From my vantage point now it seems almost silly. At the time, however, I couldn't imagine it. The baby I already had was pretty awesome, this one was going to have a tough act to follow.
I was so tired of being pregnant and yet found it hard to believe that I would have a baby that was different than the one I already had. I remember driving and looking in the rear view mirror at my son sitting strapped into his car seat and thinking, "Wow, soon there will be two kids back there."
And then I would burst into tears.
February still feels like that. A month where we have grown weary of the cold and ice. I believe that spring will finally come and my flowers will finally burst out of the ground, but a small part of me is doubtful. Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen cooking dinner when I realized it was still light outside. The days are getting imperceptibly longer.
My son's birthday is three days away. Turned out I loved him just as much as my first born. Imagine that.