But my baby!
I was single for many years after Elisheva Chaya was born, and cried every time I thought about the children I would never have. Being frum and single is, for all intents and purposes, a sentence of infertility.
So I cried at all of Elisheva’s milestones, knowing she was my baby, my last. Her Chanukah plays, her kindergarten graduation. Her pictures brought home from school. Never with YM; whatever he did, I knew Elisheva would do the following year.
Well, hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? How silly to get all worked up, seeing as how I have two more wonderful children and can look forward to many of those milestones over (and over) again.
But I still find I get unreasonably sentimental with Elisheva. Which is bad, because she hates gloppy hyper-emotional anything.
What? I’m supposed to be sitting homeschooling my daughter? I don’t think homeschooling works that way. I don’t think you need to be together ALL the time. She is colouring her Abba and Imma for the letter Alef, and Gavriel Zev is colouring and ripping up pictures of Abbas and Immas, and that’s educational enough for me.