Because I had two.

Poor Lena has four molars growing in right now. For a few nights in a row, she was up crying for hours and hours. One night, Carmen was sound asleep, I went into their room, picked Lena up and wrapped her up in her blankey and held her, and rocked her and comforted her. I smelled her hair, I looked around her dark room, I kissed her head, I sat with her. I lay with her in the reading nook I made in their room, full of pillows and blankets, and let her fall asleep on my chest. I spent an hour loving everything about her. The sound of her breath, the smell of her, the feeling of her pudgy hand wrapped around my thumb.

And I cried. Because it was the first good memory I had of holding her and comforting her at night like I wanted to.

Before I had children, I imagined those moments, when the new mom snuggles her newborn baby who is sleeping on her chest. She rocks in her rocking chair and looks out at the moon. She is peaceful, and full of love for her new baby. Without even realizing it, I had huge expectations of motherhood. In these pictures, I was always rocking one baby. One. I don't think I have to say that I am grateful for my girls, that I wouldn't change a thing, because of course I wouldn't. This isn't about that. This is about the feeling that won't go away. The feeling that I missed out on something I always imagined for myself. The ability to have those moments with my baby. I don't have a single good memory of comforting my newborn baby. I was unable to be that mother. But maybe, now I'm able.