(I wrote this on 7/11/11 and never published it. I was worried it wasn't coherent--that was back in the haze of having a true newborn. But after reading it again, I don't have anything I want to change. So here it is.)
I never had the explosion-of-love-when-she-was-born feeling with my daughter. I was exhausted. Drugged. Scared. I remember feeling relief and happiness, but the love-bomb thing never happened. It took me months to get my anxiety under control, to actually relax enough with her to trust myself and start enjoying motherhood.
With my son, I got the love-bomb. It's impossible to describe the feelings that engulfed me when he was placed on my stomach for me to love on while we waited for his cord to stop pulsing. I finally understood why people say the day your child is born is the most amazing day of your life.
I was worried, at first, that my less-than-ideal experience the first time around and my ideal experience the second time around would create problems for me. I once read a blog by a mother who had much the same experiences as I did, and she confessed to loving her son more. I was scared that my own emotions would follow suit. Scared that my great birth experience, my love-bomb, my immediate comfort with my son, how easy he's been, what an early, sweet smiler he was, would all lead me to creating a bond with him that was stronger than the one I have with my daughter, a bond born in adversity and wrought over months of struggling with my own emotions and fears.
I shouldn't have worried.
I was singing to Little Man the other day, as I do every day. He was smiling and cooing and I was loving life. And then I started to sing him "You Are My Sunshine" and immediately it felt . . . wrong. I suddenly felt like I was cheating on Baby Girl. That was our song. SHE was my sunshine, had been my sunshine for nearly two years now. And here I was, telling my son that he was my sunshine, my only sunshine, and it just felt all wrong.
And then I thought about how much I miss my girl all day, every day. How much I miss our time together. How I miss getting her up and ready in the mornings. How I long to see her smile when she walks in the door with her dad at the end of the day. How my very favorite thing in the entire world is her funny little bouncing trot as she runs up to me to hug me. How I don't mind at all when she demands that I carry her while I try to make dinner one-handed, or when she asks me to read her a book during dinner, because we have so little time now, just the two of us, that these moments that connect us are even more precious to me than ever before.
I realized that my love for my son may have started more easily, but that my love for my daughter was so special, so intense, so thick and strong after nearly two years of time together, that the two simply don't compare.
I have no doubt that my feelings for my son will one day reach the same intensity. It takes time for people to learn each other, for relationships to form. But I no longer worry that the different ways in which my relationships with my kids began is going to have any affect whatsoever on my relationships with them in general.
It's a strange thing to develop that incredibly special mother-child relationship with a new child. What was once sacred is now being replicated, shared with another. But what I'm realizing is that in reality, it's not. I'm not sharing or replicating the relationship I have with my daughter with my son. I will never--could never--replicate that relationship with anyone. It will forever and ever remain sacred. I am building a new, different relationship with my son that will, in the same way, be wholly unique and sacred.
There are some things that siblings must share. Time. Attention. Toys. But there are other things that will forever and ever remain theirs alone. My feelings for my son don't touch my feelings for my daughter. And my feelings for my son are likewise growing on their own, untouched by others. My kids will forever and ever each have their own unique relationship with me.
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2 comments:
Thank you for this post. I, too, have struggled with the thought of "how will I ever love another child like I love my first?" I'm so happy you pointed out that, just as adult relationships are each one different, so is our relationship with each of our children. I've never thought of it in that context and it makes sense. Thanks for sharing. I always appreciate your insight.
I want to copy this post word for word. You are such a wonderful writer and you make feel relief with posts like this.
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