Bleh

Elijah is sick. At least, I think he is. And it's amazing to me how that little boy's happiness and health, or lack thereof, completely affects me and my outlook on the day, on life, on anything.

He's running a temperature (38.4 before his nap,) has no appetite, and was refraining from running around, preferring to sit on my lap and fall asleep in my arms at the absurd hour of 12pm.  I totally admit to thinking the worst when he's sick, too. I wonder at what point I'll just accept that people get sick all the time and don't die from it? How many times will he be sick before I relax and don't immediately think when I put him down for his nap when his temperature is high that he'll overheat and die of that childhood form of SIDS?

I love my little man so much. I can't imagine loving anyone as much as him (in the same way...or course I love Matt) and that makes me feel guilty for this baby, but even more guilty for Elijah, that the attention I give him won't be undivided and just his alone.

I know some people would say that if I can't love another baby as much as my first, that I shouldn't have another, but that's totally not what I mean. Logically, I know that I will love this baby. That I will see her, hear her cry, hold her, nurse her, and love her so so SO much, but that hasn't happened yet. Yes, I do love her, but I haven't yet been through those experiences that make my love for her grow and grow, like I have been with Elijah. It's hard to explain, but I'm told that it's normal, when you're pregnant with the second, to have a hard time imagining feeling the exact same way about a new baby when all you've ever known is your first.

Anyway, I'm starting to fall asleep while typing this (oh no! Maybe I'm sick too!) so I'm going to go take a nap.