When I found out I was pregnant with Conor I was single, young, and pretty stupid.  When I told the ex-boyfriend the situation he quickly skipped town around the time I was 6 weeks along.  I never heard from him again.  I had to grow up and get my shit together fast, but in all honesty it wasn't that hard.  As soon as I realized I was pregnant, I was attached to the little one growing inside me.  I had never felt more in love with anything or anyone in my life before.  When he first born it was beyond difficult, I was alone and he had colic for the first 6 months of his life.  I thought I was going to lose my mind but we pulled through and I've always felt like we had a very special bond because of how it started.  In the beginning I was all he had and he was all I had.

Now obviously Conor and I got very lucky when I found C, he is a great dad and treats Conor like his own.  And now we get to add another baby to love to the mix.  All in all I'd say I've been very blessed with how things turned out.

But herein lies the problem.  Not so much a problem as a concern.  My biggest fear (and trust me, there are a lot of course) about this pregnancy is that I'm not going to love this baby as much as I love Conor.  Admitting that is both painful and humiliating.  Painful because I feel horrible for even having that worry, humiliating because I know how ridiculous it is.  And to add on to this fear is the fear that Conor and I will lose our closeness and he will suffer because of it (obviously, since I'm such a big bundle of mommy fun lately).

I think this pregnancy has really made me decide to go for the gold in mommy guilt this year.  With the intense epidemic of mommy guilt I have to wonder why no one has come up with a cure all for us. 

Oh wait, never mind, it's called the wine section as Costco. 

Deep down inside I know I have plenty of love to equally devote to another child, I also know that Conor will not suffer from MORE love in our family.  Sometimes it seems as though my mind is so intent on working overtime that it just must cover every possible thing there is to worry and obsess about until its exhausted all areas of concern.  Make sense?  Yea, not to me either. 

Here's another confession