A few months ago my 2-year-old daughter and I were driving home from dinner with friends, and as we pulled onto our street a lump formed in my throat and big, ugly tears began to stream down my face; I realized that tonight was our very last night ever just the two of us to do my daughter’s bath time and bedtime routine. Out-of-town relatives were set to arrive, my husband would soon be home from his deployment, and we’d be having our second baby.
The intense emotion hit me out of nowhere, and I felt guilty about how much was about to change for my daughter. I had no idea how to rationalize or sort through this sudden rush of feelings. I was already so in love with this healthy, unborn baby girl kicking inside my belly, but I felt like I was mourning the future loss of my season as a mama of one.