Guilt.

I am swimming in it these days.

I expected to feel a lot of different emotions when I got pregnant with #2: elation, exhaustion, fear, excitement, worry... But guilt? Never registered as a possibility for me. Don't get me wrong, I've got all those other things going on times ten (especially the excitement part.) And this pregnancy was 100% planned and prayed for. But I'm laced with an overwhelming amount of guilt over what effect this turn of events is having on my firstborn.

I expect the invasion of a tiny newborn will be quite mind-blowing for Brooke. The amount of attention she will receive from us will be drastically cut in half. Is it fair to her? That's what I keep asking myself over and over.

The effect of just the pregnancy alone are already being felt. It was felt in January when I was too nauseous & tired to play with her in her playroom but would just lay on the floor watching her instead. It was felt in March when I was so sick one day that she spent the entire day shuffling between grandmas. It was felt in May on days when it was beautiful out but I was just too exhausted (and hot) to take her outside to play.

And it was definitely felt yesterday, when my poor girl was struck with a 103.5 degree fever and wanted nothing more than to be on my lap. You see, I've been growing this belly for about 7 months now, and there's just not much room for her on my lap anymore. She so desperately wanted to just lay with me on the couch and watch Bubble Guppies and drink juice while we waited for the Advil to kick in and cool down her blazing hot skin. But pretty much every single position I'm in on the couch makes it crazy tough to breathe these days. Poor thing kept getting tossed from one side to the next as I tried to find a comfortable way for us both to sit where I could still breathe, getting up every few minutes to take a drink when it became too hard. I felt terrible that I couldn't let her fall asleep on my chest or even lay on my shoulder for more than a minute or two. Thankfully, we survived the day. (FYI - today she is fever-free, so who knows what kind of silly virus that was.) I'm sure all she remembers is that Mommy let her watch lots of shows & drink as much juice as she wanted & gave her a popsicle (& let her eat most of mine, too) & let her play in the bath 5 extra minutes to help cool down. But I remember all of the other stuff, the my-sick-little-girl-got-the-shaft-b/c-Mommy's-uber-pregnant stuff.

Here's where logic starts to step in. Despite all of this guilt, I know that we are giving her the greatest gift by giving her a sibling. I know this because, between the husband and I, we have 7 pretty fantastic siblings. And growing up with instant playmates is awesome. Always having somebody around to play with or talk to or entertain is pretty great. And the relationships we have with our siblings now that we're adults? I wish like hell that Brooke & Baby Reeder have the same kind. So are we doing her a complete disservice by bringing another munchkin into the mix? I'd say not.

Irrational or not, I still feel a little guilty. (I'm 7 months pregnant, I'm allowed to be irrational.)