Learning this Love

I’ve read a lot of stories. Stories of birth and bonding. Bringing new life into the world, new members into families. In a lot of these stories, if not all of them, I encounter some variation on the theme of an overwhelming and immediate wave of love rushing over mom and/or dad as baby breathes air for the very first time. Or stares into the parents’ faces. Or cries.

I loved my son before he breathed air. Before I could look in his eyes. Before I heard and answered his cries. He was easy to love as part of my body. And he’s definitely pretty lovable out here in the world, too.

But that complete and all-encompassing love I’d heard so much about didn’t wash over me at the moment of his birth. For me, it’s been slower. A process. This is not like any other love in the world, this love of a parent, a mother, for a child.

And I’ve been trying to put this into words for several days. This post as a draft floating around behind the scenes making attempts to articulate the fact that love is a strange beast. As soon as you think you’ve got it down, love your parents, your siblings, friends, husband, in-laws and the rest, here comes this strange curve ball. This little person you hardly know.

I’m not sure I really get it. And I wonder if I’m doing it right. Because it didn’t wash over me immediately. Because even though I know my son, I have no idea who he is. Or who he might become. And I have influence there. Which is both amazing and terrifying.

It still floors me that I’ve been given such a gift. To be a mother. I’ve definitely changed. I’ve noticed. But I still feel like the same little girl who needs extra cuddles in winter. Who is scared of growing up. Of loss. Of damage. But now I’m the mom. I’m the one whose cuddles mean the most. I’m the one who will kiss boo-boos and make everything better. I am magic. I am more than I was. And it’s hard to remember how I even got here. It’s shocking. And confusing.

I am proud of my son. I would do anything for him. But I know that today, right now, my love for him is small. It is unfamiliar. It’s timid and raw. But tomorrow, it will be less so. It will be a little bit bigger. A little more certain. A touch more refined.

It’s not how I thought it would be at all. But it’s good. It’s so good. And I’m still learning. And these words aren’t the right ones. I can tell. But they’re all I’ve got for now.