I've been thinking a lot lately about what it's like to love a baby or a child. People tend to speak of it like it's something concrete and universal, things like you'll love them more than you ever thought possible or you'll fall in love with them immediately or you'll love them more than you've ever loved anybody, but I think it's probably more individual than that. The rate, depth, and expression of falling in love with a new baby are probably different for every family.
For example, many women speak of the overwhelming sense of emotion and besottedness they feel with their newborn from the moment of birth. Natural-birth advocates in particular speak of the cocktail of "love hormones" that promote deep and immediate attachment between mother and baby. Perhaps because I went into labor at 38 weeks and it only lasted about two hours, and so I hadn't yet had time to get my mind around the idea that hey, we're having a baby, not only soon but today, not just today but before breakfast time!, the most powerful feeling I had when I first held Eden was that of being completely stunned. Stunned that birth was over (heck, that it had even started!), that she was here, that she was a "she," that pregnancy was no more and her life was beginning. I remember looking at her and thinking that she looked right to me, like she belonged to our family, and feeling protective of her in the sense that I thought that we needed to get her a hat and a blanket and warm her up, but there was still a certain sense of disbelief that she was actually mine. It was only looking back at it a couple of weeks later, once I'd had a chance to get to know her, that that scene became infused with a new tenderness for me. It's a lot like looking back at my first dates with Matt--superimposed over the awkwardness that was actually there is a powerful sense of nostalgia and fondness born of what was yet to come.
There are also those who say that romantic or marital love "pale in comparison" with how powerfully one loves a child. I have to say that I honestly don't feel like Matt's and my love pales in comparison with anything. Instead, having Eden together has opened up all kinds of new things for me to love about Matt--how attentively he took care of both of us in the first hours, days, and weeks after birth, and still does; how much joy he gets from our daughter; his concern for her wellbeing. While I adore Eden--her baby smiles, curling up with her on the couch while she contentedly nurses--how can I adore any less the person who bustles around, cooking dinner and cleaning, so that she and I are completely free to do that?
On the other hand, it is very different from romantic love--in which you get to know someone incredibly well, then choose to make them part of your family. With a baby, you choose to add them to your family, they come to live in your house, and then you spend the next years getting to know them. I've also considered how crazy it will feel when Eden starts to talk. So far, I've gotten to know her as this being who definitely communicates, but does not speak--a lot like our cats. I imagine that her beginning to talk will feel something like if one of the cats opened its mouth and spoke words one day--a sense of "I never knew you could do that!"
Becoming a parent and falling in love with my baby have been different for me than the way they're described by many people. Just as it's nothing I could have really understood for myself before doing it, it's nothing that anybody else could prepare me for, either. And for me, that's part of the beauty of it--that out of the uniqueness of my relationship with Matt, we're creating a family dynamic that's also one of a kind.
For example, many women speak of the overwhelming sense of emotion and besottedness they feel with their newborn from the moment of birth. Natural-birth advocates in particular speak of the cocktail of "love hormones" that promote deep and immediate attachment between mother and baby. Perhaps because I went into labor at 38 weeks and it only lasted about two hours, and so I hadn't yet had time to get my mind around the idea that hey, we're having a baby, not only soon but today, not just today but before breakfast time!, the most powerful feeling I had when I first held Eden was that of being completely stunned. Stunned that birth was over (heck, that it had even started!), that she was here, that she was a "she," that pregnancy was no more and her life was beginning. I remember looking at her and thinking that she looked right to me, like she belonged to our family, and feeling protective of her in the sense that I thought that we needed to get her a hat and a blanket and warm her up, but there was still a certain sense of disbelief that she was actually mine. It was only looking back at it a couple of weeks later, once I'd had a chance to get to know her, that that scene became infused with a new tenderness for me. It's a lot like looking back at my first dates with Matt--superimposed over the awkwardness that was actually there is a powerful sense of nostalgia and fondness born of what was yet to come.
There are also those who say that romantic or marital love "pale in comparison" with how powerfully one loves a child. I have to say that I honestly don't feel like Matt's and my love pales in comparison with anything. Instead, having Eden together has opened up all kinds of new things for me to love about Matt--how attentively he took care of both of us in the first hours, days, and weeks after birth, and still does; how much joy he gets from our daughter; his concern for her wellbeing. While I adore Eden--her baby smiles, curling up with her on the couch while she contentedly nurses--how can I adore any less the person who bustles around, cooking dinner and cleaning, so that she and I are completely free to do that?
On the other hand, it is very different from romantic love--in which you get to know someone incredibly well, then choose to make them part of your family. With a baby, you choose to add them to your family, they come to live in your house, and then you spend the next years getting to know them. I've also considered how crazy it will feel when Eden starts to talk. So far, I've gotten to know her as this being who definitely communicates, but does not speak--a lot like our cats. I imagine that her beginning to talk will feel something like if one of the cats opened its mouth and spoke words one day--a sense of "I never knew you could do that!"
Becoming a parent and falling in love with my baby have been different for me than the way they're described by many people. Just as it's nothing I could have really understood for myself before doing it, it's nothing that anybody else could prepare me for, either. And for me, that's part of the beauty of it--that out of the uniqueness of my relationship with Matt, we're creating a family dynamic that's also one of a kind.
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