While pregnant with my first son, I read everything I could find concerning babies. I wanted to be über prepared.
Let’s all take a break for a good chuckle.
There was, however, one question for which I could never locate the answer. A topic that was so dark and scary that no book would broach the subject. Childbirth is supposed to be transformational, right? Moonbeams and rainbows? Unicorns and Care Bears? No matter what hell your body goes through, once that child is here, you lock eyes, connect on a level you never knew existed, and forget the world because you will fall. in. love.
Right?!
But what if I didn’t? What if he didn’t? I don’t just hand my heart to anyone, and I’m one difficult chick to get to know, this could be disastrous.
The test came with my waters breaking 10 days early, a petocin-induced labor, two hours of pushing, and then a late-night emergency c-section. I was so doped up that I chose the middle name without even remembering – seriously. “Bonding” was the last thing on anyone’s mind, until the next morning when the nurse wheeled our son into the room.
And then left.
Hubs and I just looked at each other.
What are we supposed to do with him now?!
We managed, but I didn’t feel like a “Mother.” He was cute and wrinkly and serious and looked like his father – all good things for sure – but where was the thunderbolt?
Three days later we were home. The house was eerily quiet. Hubs gathered Oldest out of his carrier, and we wandered into our bedroom to enjoy the moment. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took in the view of the love of my life holding our newest love of our lives.
I then proceeded to bawl, completely overcome with emotions – I mean like the Grinch-whose-heart-grew-three-sizes kind of painful realization that this tiny creature, this defenseless angel, would die if we chose not to take care of him.
At that split second I wanted to feed every hungry child on the planet, kiss every single boo boo and tear away, really hurt the parents who did not to take care of their own children, and kill anyone who would harm one hair on any child’s head.
I knew with 100% certainty I would step in front of a train, would lift a two-ton automobile, would simply lay down and die, if it meant the well-being of my child.
I was relieved.
And terrified.
And finally, a “Mom” – an honor I strive to deserve, every single day.While pregnant with my first son, I read everything I could find concerning babies. I wanted to be über prepared.
Let’s all take a break for a good chuckle.
There was, however, one question for which I could never locate the answer. A topic that was so dark and scary that no book would broach the subject. Childbirth is supposed to be transformational, right? Moonbeams and rainbows? Unicorns and Care Bears? No matter what hell your body goes through, once that child is here, you lock eyes, connect on a level you never knew existed, and forget the world because you will fall. in. love.
Right?!
But what if I didn’t? What if he didn’t? I don’t just hand my heart to anyone, and I’m one difficult chick to get to know, this could be disastrous.
The test came with my waters breaking 10 days early, a petocin-induced labor, two hours of pushing, and then a late-night emergency c-section. I was so doped up that I chose the middle name without even remembering – seriously. “Bonding” was the last thing on anyone’s mind, until the next morning when the nurse wheeled our son into the room.
And then left.
Hubs and I just looked at each other.
What are we supposed to do with him now?!
We managed, but I didn’t feel like a “Mother.” He was cute and wrinkly and serious and looked like his father – all good things for sure – but where was the thunderbolt?
Three days later we were home. The house was eerily quiet. Hubs gathered Oldest out of his carrier, and we wandered into our bedroom to enjoy the moment. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took in the view of the love of my life holding our newest love of our lives.
I then proceeded to bawl, completely overcome with emotions – I mean like the Grinch-whose-heart-grew-three-sizes kind of painful realization that this tiny creature, this defenseless angel, would die if we chose not to take care of him.
At that split second I wanted to feed every hungry child on the planet, kiss every single boo boo and tear away, really hurt the parents who did not to take care of their own children, and kill anyone who would harm one hair on any child’s head.
I knew with 100% certainty I would step in front of a train, would lift a two-ton automobile, would simply lay down and die, if it meant the well-being of my child.
I was relieved.
And terrified.
And finally, a “Mom” – an honor I strive to deserve, every single day.
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