by Catherine Graham

Created on: July 27, 2007

I'm an emotional woman. I live with my emotions on my sleeve, so it doesn't really take a whole lot to make me cry, as my children are starting to figure out.

The first time I felt my son move in my stomach, I laid there and cried. They were tears of joy and fear of the reality that he was on his way. The same tears fell down my face four months later, when the nurse laid him in my arms, and I was able to see the reflection of an angel gazing up at me.

During the first few weeks after his birth, I cried in the middle of the night, being a single mom, and utterly exhausted by the constant demand of my time. I cried because my son didn't have a father in his life at that moment, and I cried about the fears I held inside of never being an adequate parent to fill the role of both mommy and daddy.

The first time he looked at me, and gave me a big goofy grin, I cried. I was proud that my efforts were paying off...my child was following the proper steps of development, and was early when he beamed his moist gums at me.

When my second child, another son, was born I cried. He was purple when he came out, suffering from a pneumothorax. He had a hard time breathing, as a pocket of air on the outside of his lungs made it difficult for him. I cried for his life, and my inability to hold him, and give him the strength that I thought he needed to get through. I cried when I was able to hold him, and breastfeed him for the first time. I cried when the nurse told me he was healthy enough to take home. When we got home, I cried again, as my oldest son looked at his new brother with love and amazement. After five torturous days, I was crying tears of joy.

Once again, I found myself crying in the middle of the night, for my lack of sleep. Tears came to my eyes when I thought of the responsibility I had been given...two precious baby boys to look after. Was I capable of doing it? Although there was a man in my life now, who had become a father for both children, was I going to be able to handle looking after two children?

Time showed me that yes, I was capable.

My oldest fell and split a tooth open. He was in agonizing pain. I couldn't cry. I had to be strong for him, but that night, when he was asleep, and I was alone, I let the tears fall.

As the boys grew, I found myself crying more tears of joy than tears of sorrow. I cried at their first words, the first time they said Mama, and I love you. I cried and embraced them when they took their first steps, and I cried when I looked at

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