When my first son was born, it was extremely difficult. I don’t think I was ready. I know you’re never really ready, but still.
After being induced, nothing went smoothly. Nothing. To the point where, when he finally came out, they took him away from me. He had a fever, so they immediately took him to intermediate care to examine him, hook him up to monitors, and give him antibiotics—because he’d been inside too long after my water broke, and a little bacteria had managed to get to him, causing an infection.
Of course, Dad went with him, and I found myself alone in my hospital bed in the delivery room. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. I’d just gone through the most unsettling, grueling, exhausting, and terrifying 26 hours of my life… and now I found myself completely alone, my stomach empty, with no sense of reality: no boyfriend, no baby, and my mother—who’d been there—had left. It hit me all at once: when does that “love at first sight” moment happen, when the baby’s barely out and I’m left completely alone?
Unfortunately, I’ll never be able to say that I loved my first child the very second he was born. I didn’t see him again until three hours after his birth, and it was complicated—he needed medical care. And there I was, a new mom trying to get the hang of my new role, not knowing where I belonged among all those wonderful nurse bees (and thank goodness they were there!). I kept telling myself, “It’ll be better at home—just wait until you get home.”
Except that once I got home, the adrenaline wore off and the baby blues hit me right in the face. I was on autopilot, exhausted, with the baby or the breast pump constantly hooked up… and I honestly asked myself, “But why did I want this so much?”
It took six weeks. By the end of that time, I had him in my arms and was getting ready to breastfeed him. Again. Let’s not even talk about the six-week growth spurt. For me, it was worse than the 3-month growth spurt… But it was magical: he controlled his movements for one of the first times in his short life. He let go of my breast, turned his head, looked at me, and smiled. It wasn’t his first smile… but it was one just for me. It hit me all at once. It happened so fast. So intensely. So much so that it almost hurt: love. Solid, powerful—enough to lift every mountain in the world. I finally understood what those mothers had been talking about all these years. The famous “when it happens to you, you’ll just know!”
I knew. Later than I really would have wanted, but I knew. And I’ve known for almost six years now. Looking back, if someone offered me the chance to relive that moment, I wouldn’t change a single second of it (or very, very little—damn, giving birth really hurts!!!)—because it’s our story, and it shaped the extraordinary child that is Son #1.
When the time came to meet my second child, I was scared. Scared that it would happen all over again. However, the birth was completely different—a fairytale birth and a perfectly healthy baby who was left on me for hours and hours after he arrived. And that’s when I understood that famous bond of attachment. I experienced it—that famous love at first sight from the very first second. That explosion of happiness. Even with the baby blues, even as the adrenaline wore off. It made me love my first child even more. That’s when it hit me right in the face once again: how wonderful it is to be a mom!
To you who recognize yourself in this story and are wondering if you should have another child, out of fear that it might be the same… I want to tell you to go for it. Because I know you’ve heard this a thousand times before, but no two children are alike, and love isn’t divided—it multiplies. People told me that, too, and I held back. But now I know they were right. I know it. Go for it!