I carried you when you were a little bean: Tiny, a secret. I couldn’t feel the weight yet, but the tiny decisions I made reminded me you were there. No sushi. Better eat healthy.
I carried you when my belly grew big and round.
Breathless, up and down stairs, your two-year-old brother on my hip. 60 lbs of weight combined. Making it to the top of the stairs felt like reaching the top of a mountain.
I carried you until the end of pregnancy, chasing your siblings around the neighborhood on their bikes. The anticipation grew. With each twinge of pain, I wondered if it was time.
I carried you, brand new, wrapped in white, around the hospital room.
Achy, sore, but on top of the world. You were here and you were perfect. You felt so light.
I carried you during times when you were fussy. Your dad and I swayed you, discovering how much you enjoyed being held. You liked to be held like a football, your belly cradled against my arm.
You’re now three months old, and you’re ok being set down. Being carried, you’re content for hours.
I carry your brother. At almost three, he grins and holds me tight. He still loves to be held. His legs used to be chubby, now they fall well past my hips. He’s long and lean.
I carry your big sister. “Mom, do you still love me even though Reid is here?” she asks. My heart breaks. “Of course I do, you were my first baby!” At nearly 7, she towers over her siblings.
We’re at the zoo and she can’t see over the fence. I lift her. She’s heavy. Her eyes take in the zebras under the shade of a tree. “Thanks, Mommy!” she says, a huge smile on her face. She’s surprised I can still carry her. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to carry her.
At the grocery store, I pick up a 50 lb bag of dog food. Grocery cart full of groceries. Toddler in the front, baby in the cart in his car seat.
Three months postpartum, I start lifting weights. They feel heavy. It’s been a while. 1, 2, 3… my arms ache. It’s discouraging. I used to lift these weights without much effort. I end the workout and move on with my day. I remind myself I AM strong. I carry my kids.
As I go to bed at night, I carry the weight of the responsibilities of the home. My husband carries it too, but in a different way. I recall the events of the day. My body is tired. I’ve had back and knee injuries over the last few years. I’m thankful my body feels healthy and strong now, and I can carry these little ones.
