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As I stared into my five-month-old daughter's eyes last night, I couldn't help admiring her. She flashed me her brand new two front teeth before she squealed loudly, and then bit my nose. I did not feel any pressure that she wasn't asleep even though it was midnight. I was not stressed out even though this article needed to be written by this morning and I had not started yet. I did not feel guilty about not accomplishing anything.
You see, before my daughter was born, I had a fear of having children. My mother had passed away when I was only 16 years old, and I had loved her dearly. But because of this experience, I believed that a dead parent was too much for any child to endure. I concluded, from my limited experience, that having children was just too painful. When I found out that I was pregnant in January of 1997, all of these feelings welled up inside of me. I did not think that I was ready to deal with these deep-seated issues just quite yet. And I was not sure if my feelings about having children, even though I was counting my blessings, had changed. But when I held my daughter in my arms after I came to, (I gave birth under general anesthesia because of an emergency cesarean) and every moment since, I could not help but marvel at her. This tiny squirming creature was totally dependent upon me for sustenance. As she looked into my eyes, rooting for my breast, I knew that I was up for the challenge. "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" came to mind. Two days after my daughter was born, she had a fever. Her rough start already had both Roger and I on the watch for any sort of abnormalities. We asked a nurse to see the on staff pediatrician immediately. Once he arrived, he reaffirmed our worst fear - she was sick, and had to be taken down to the special care nursery immediately. The week that she was in the special care nursery left my husband and I with little time to think. My doctor was extremely understanding, and let me stay in the hospital as long as was needed so as to continue the nursing relationship. And so, every three hours, I hobbled downstairs to feed my daughter. Even though the pain of my incision was excruciating, I knew that the time I spent with her was both needed and wanted by us both. It was during one of these sessions that I had a revelation.
The copyright of the article Why I Work at Home: Bonny's Story. in Work-at-Home Parents is owned by . Permission to republish Why I Work at Home: Bonny's Story. in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.
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