It’s the middle of the night – 2:37, to be exact. We’re still struggling to get this whole “sleeping” thing down. I grumpily shuffle to the nursery midst grunts and cries (from her, not from me – Although, I’m not above that at this point). Exhausted, I reach down and scoop her up. She looks up at me and, through teary eyes, gives me the biggest smile.
My heart absolutely explodes. I’m a puddle of irrational mush. For a moment, I forget that I’m mentally and physically worn down. I’m overwhelmed by the immense love I have for this tiny little human.
Cliche? Yes. True? Absolutely.
But it hasn’t always been like this. I’ve been ashamed to admit it but I didn’t instantly fall in love with my baby.
“What a heartless thing to say!” You may be thinking. Sorry. This post is about honesty. Maybe it was due to my post-partum hormones, but more likely it was just who I am. I was hesitant about motherhood.
During pregnancy, I was worried about feeling connected to my unborn daughter. I felt strange talking to my belly. I didn’t enjoy rubbing it. In fact, I usually forgot I was even pregnant. That is, until my giant stomach bumped into something. I don’t consider myself a “maternal” person. I didn’t play much with dolls growing up. I don’t melt when I see a stranger’s baby. I wasn’t even sure if kids were in the picture for me. I often expressed my concern to friends and was reassured, “Oh, don’t worry! The instant they put her on your chest, it will be love at first sight!”
It wasn’t.
Truthfully, as soon as my doctor did put her on my chest, I felt nothing. And then instant panic. Where is my promised flood of emotions? Where is that overwhelming love everyone told me about?
What is wrong with me?
To be clear, it wasn’t that I didn’t care for or take care of her. I got up every two hours for the first six weeks to feed her. I pumped around the clock. I held her and rocked her and sang to her. But those actions didn’t come with that “overwhelming motherly love.” No, I did them because I knew she needed me and relied wholly on me. She was (and is) helpless. I was her everything, but she wasn’t mine.
Yet.
No, ours wasn’t a “love at first sight” kind of story. To be fair, I’m not entirely sure she loved me instantly either. I wasn’t very lovable; I fumbled through my first few weeks of motherhood. Everything was new, weird, strange, scary for both of us.
Instead, ours has been a gradual and patient kind of love. We figured it out together. We figured each other out together. Through the late nights, the tearful afternoons, the confusion, the exhaustion, the cuddles, the smiles, our love grew. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment that I felt that promised overwhelming love, but it’s here and more intense than I anticipated.
This sweet, pure, strong love that I feel for this little girl now helps to define me.
The best part? It’s nowhere near as sweet, pure, or strong as it will be tomorrow.
I feel like I could have written this post! So very honest and so very relatable – thanks for sharing!
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