Falling in Love With My Baby

After an evening of wine and a gabfest about being moms, two friends suggested that I blog about bringing my first born daughter home from the hospital and the feelings I experienced on that pilgrimage into motherhood. My friends said that my frankness could help other moms to realize that not knowing what to do all the time is normal. Seriously? Were they drunk? Probably, or so I thought until this morning when one friend emailed me to ask why I hadn't written that story yet. I didn't know I was taking requests, but I'll do it anyway. Damn, the things I do for my friends.

As you know, I had a little girl on a Saturday in March, eight years ago. I won't go into the gory details of the labour other than to say that it was long and I hadn't slept in two days. I really felt like my dreams were coming true that morning. All I ever wanted was to be a mom and have a daughter. I had already planned our shopping trips and our confabulations while lying on her bed. It was going to be a wonderful adventure! While we were in the hospital everything was grand. I had a ton of visitors all telling us how lucky we were and how great I looked, which was total bull-shit, by the way. That night the baby was screaming in her hospital cradle so I brought her into my bed. I slept for about 5 seconds, but the baby fell fast asleep and I was just thrilled to hold my peaceful baby. In the hospital, breastfeeding seemed to be going well while the nursed helped me. Obviously, this mom thing was going to be a breeze. I was a natural! Yeah, right.

The day finally came when we got to bring our baby home from the hospital. That was also the day that my hormones kicked in and that lack of sleep caught up with me. Before our release into the real world the baby had to have a blood test. That's the one where they prick their feet and they scream bloody murder. You know the one. Well, I started bawling and the nurse had to take me into the hall so the technician could do her job. Not cool. So, then they had to show us how to put her into the car seat which I knew wouldn't be a problem because we had been practicing for months with my Curious George doll. So, off we go home. Despite the fact that my husband drove slowly home, I felt every bump along the road. (Ladies, you know what I'm talking about.) When we got home, my mom, my youngest sister, and my mother-in-law were all there to lend a hand. As soon as I walked through the door I felt so overwhelmed that I just broke down. My mom made me try to eat soup, but I couldn't hold the spoon so my sister spoon fed me while I was laying on the couch crying and shaking. I tried to feed the baby when she woke up but I couldn't get the proper latch and I was crying and she was crying and that just made me cry more. I felt like a mental patient. I just couldn't feed the baby. I couldn't even hold her without crying. I wanted to be a mother my entire life and now that I was I just couldn't do it. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn't know, and I'm sure my husband was wondering when the next flight to Timbuktu was leaving. I don't blame him. I was a total nightmare. I was ordered to sleep. I don't know if this has ever happened to you or not, but I was so over tired it was almost impossible to calm down and sleep. Also, I could hear my daughter crying so I kept getting up to see if I could feed her, which I couldn't. I was useless, my boobs were useless. Natural mother, my ass. I was failing and I knew it, and there was no escape. Welcome to the wonderful world of mommy-guilt!

After two weeks of the baby screaming and several trips to the doctor and the breastfeeding clinic, we decided she needed a bottle. I was totally fine with this idea by then. I just needed everyone to stop crying. Guess what. It worked like a hot-damn, for the baby, that is. Peace at last. It was such a relief but we were not out of the woods yet. I was still suffering in silence and crying when I was alone and the baby was sleeping. I should have won an Academy Award for my portrayal of a normal mom. Inside I felt confused, disoriented, and numb. I didn't tell a soul, not even my husband. During this time, a family friend had had a baby as well. We were invited to the shower and I really didn't want to go, but I went and I brought the baby along too. I put on my happy face and went through the motions of having a good time. (It's a good thing this was before I got back into drinking again because things could have become messy.) We were taking a photo of my daughter and my friend's new baby together when my friend turned to me and said,
"Did you ever think that you could love a person this much?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I can barely make it through the day and all my friend can think about is how much she's in love with her baby! I really don't know what my response was, but I was thinking that if she was having such a gay ol' time with this motherhood thing she could have my baby for a few days, that was fine with me. I could use the break. Somehow, I held it together until I got home. I brought the baby in and handed her off to my husband. That night I seriously wondered what was wrong with me and I knew that my husband and the baby deserved so much more than I was capable of giving.

It took about six weeks until I started to feel better. I knew I didn't feel like I had before I had the baby. Carefree, no responsibility. Those days were over forever, but I was transforming into the new me. The me with a baby and I was happy. The fog that I was living under had cleared and I could really start to enjoy my baby. I had actually fallen in love with her. I wasn't a dead-beat mom after all. Yay! Don't get the wrong impression, though. Through the first six weeks I did love my baby. I cared for her, fed her changed her, I kissed and hugged her a lot, but I didn't feel that deep undying, unwavering love that I feel now. Of course, it's never easy and there are always new and exciting challenges. Often times I have no clue what to do. It's trial and error. The first six weeks of being a mom was a disaster and I suppose on looking back I had a serious case of the baby blues and I should have told someone how I felt, but I got through it. I love my baby who is now 8 and I can't imagine life without her. Cliche, I know, but it's the truth! I don't know if this will help anyone out there, but it feels good to get all that off my chest. Phew!