This is a previously unpublished blog entry that I wrote before Momoko's birth. It touches me to publish it, unaltered, now that she is almost eight months old.
The clock ticks towards the arrival of our second. We don't know if a little boy or a little girl is kicking their legs inside of Eriko's ever expanding belly. We don't know what this child will look like, sound like, or act like.
I don't remember what I was thinking with Jerry - fear, apprehension, excitement? That is almost four years ago - which is amazing to comprehend. I don't remember each detail of Jerry growing up, but I do know that I feel intense fondness whenever I think of him.
Now I worry - when there is a second - do I have to share my love? Does Jerry get less of me? Surely less of my time, less of my attention, less of my patience. These things just must be - I am finite; Eriko is finite. Is my love finite - does Jerry get less of me?
There is no doubt that Jerry has brought tremendous joy to Eriko and I - but he also changed our lives. We don't have the same time for each other, the same attention in each other, the same patience for each other. Yet, Jerry's love more than replaces what we give to him. I have to share Eriko with him and yet, our love for each other isn't diminished - changed, for sure - but no less.
Amidst my apprhension, there is sadness - I will miss these days. Jerry is my only son, my only child. In some ways, it is the sadness that occurs in the passing of time - the fear that things just couldn't possibly get better. I hope, and deep down I know, that despite what we will all invest, this child will bring out even more from us all.
