I remember when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Oh, I had all the time in the world to nest and feel that life growing in my womb. That pregnancy grounded me at the same time it connected me with my instincts in a way nothing else ever had.
I remember holding my daughter in my arms for the first time. As soon as she came out of my body, my partner held her and handed her over to me. I held that baby, my heart almost exploding. We had a beautiful and peaceful delivery. I spent the whole day laboring, breathing, feeling every contraction, telling myself I was strong and I could do it. And then… I had this precious baby in my arms. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.
Every day I looked at her and I was in awe of how perfect she was. Our love grew a little bit every day - and I’ve come to understand that this is imperceptible. I didn’t realize I loved her more than the day before. And I never thought about it…
…until my son was born. Everything was different with him. I was so excited about the pregnancy but I couldn’t feel every second of it because I already had a daughter to take care of. His birth was different, very quick and intense. Feeling all the contractions, my hips expanding, dilating 10cm, all in 1.5 hours was very intense. I didn’t feel strong, I felt I couldn’t do it. Then, after that intense hour, I had my second baby in my arms. “It’s a boy!” I thought to myself - it was a big surprise!
I remember looking at him and not feeling instantly all the love I felt for my daughter. That threw me into a spiral of guilt and shame. I felt like such a bad mother. What kind of mother doesn’t love their children equally? I couldn’t speak about it at that time and honestly, it is still really hard to write about it. Or even to think about it.
I realized that when I looked at my son, I felt the need to protect him. To feed him. To help him sleep. He was so tiny… he couldn’t do anything. And all I wanted to do was to help him and protect him. Then I realized that was caring for him. That was love. Then I remembered I had 17 months to build a relationship with my daughter, to love her a little bit more every day. Meanwhile, I had just met my son. I was putting too much pressure on myself to love them the same way when all I needed was more time.
When I look at pictures of his first few months, I still feel guilty. And I know that it is something I have to work on to forgive myself. But when I look at him now… oh, my heart explodes! He is the sweetest kid. He has the most wonderful smile. He is charming. He is so funny! He lights up the room. Such a precious baby! My baby boy!
I’ve learned we don’t measure love. We don’t pressure love. We don’t rush love. We just live our lives, one day at a time and we feel love.
I’ve heard so many mothers describe what you just did.
I admire you for sharing your experience. It's so important for mothers to know what they might experience so they can go into it more prepared.
Knowing that something is a common experience can help us put it into perspective and move through it.
When my son was a newborn, I remember one day feeling completely disconnected, wondering if this was how my life was going to be forever.
Now, know that the lack of sleep, the repetitive diaper changings and feeding and pumping around the clock, having no time or energy for anything else, and the constant worry that I was falling behind and whether my son would be okay were completely overwhelming. On a physical and emotional level.
I felt guilty for not being the mother I wanted to be, but that was a lie.
If I had known all I know now, I would have known I was doing so much, and I was exactly who I wanted to be.
Thank you for being brave enough to share something so beautiful and vulnerable🥺✨So many of us can relate to it, and I know reading something like this would have helped me feel less alone. So maybe there are other mothers out there feeling seen and understood because you opened up in this way🙏🏼
For me, it was the other way round, with my oldest. I’ve written about it too, and even though almost four years have passed, I still find it hard to accept that this is how I felt during my son’s first months. I felt so guilty and like such a bad mother, as if I had failed him. It was so hard, and even writing this comment brings tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat🥺
But I’m learning to be more compassionate with myself and, like you said, to understand that there was love in those instinctive acts of care too. And that sometimes the bond is something that is built over time, and that doesn’t make it any less beautiful💛