I’ve often thought that I shouldn’t admit this, but I didn’t instantly fall in love with my baby when I first laid eyes on him.
My labor was grueling. My body felt completely shattered. When he finally arrived, a little indigo from the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and squawking in protest, I was overwhelmed with fear, exhaustion (the kind that seeps into your very bones), and a mix of excitement and transformation. But love? That wasn’t there yet. I didn’t hear any celestial choirs or feel the emotional rush that everyone had warned me about. In fact, I hesitated to hold him, my body trembling and weak.
A few days later, we returned home, and I found myself sitting next to his infant carrier in the backseat, anxious about every turn and stop because now I was responsible for this tiny life. As I healed, I awkwardly swaddled him while we settled into a navy blue recliner that my dad had gifted me when I was too pregnant to climb into bed during my last month. I cried alongside this fragile little being every day as we navigated the steep learning curve of motherhood together—my breasts swollen and aching, his sleeping patterns inverted, and his only comfort found in our arms.
The first few weeks were some of the most challenging of my existence. I felt bewildered and exhausted, grappling with the demands of a fussy, colicky baby. My emotions were a whirlpool of fear and excitement, and while I suspected I might love him, I was too sleep-deprived and fragile to fully grasp it. I merely went through the motions: change, feed, sleep, repeat.
Then, it happened. Now, when I meet new moms—eyes heavy, hair disheveled—I urge them to hold on because that moment is coming. One day, as I propped my knees up and laid him against my legs, our eyes met, and I noticed the corners of his mouth twitch. I leaned in, and to my amazement, he smiled. A genuine smile, intentional and pure. It was as if I was witnessing a miracle for the first time.
In that moment, when his tentative smile blossomed into a radiant grin and he looked back at me as though I was the miracle, I finally knew I had fallen in love. His entire face lit up, and in turn, my heart overflowed with emotion, making me cry once more. Motherhood, unlike baseball, is filled with tears.
What’s even more remarkable is that this experience continues to unfold. Every time my children smile at me—whether it’s my eldest, who is now nearly 13, or my youngest, just turned 3—my heart swells anew, and it always feels miraculous. Parenthood remains a challenge; it’s daunting and exhausting, yet filled with excitement and change. However, each smile from my kids brings healing. The scars fade, the dents fill, and what once felt broken starts to mend.
Nothing about childbirth or motherhood aligned with my expectations, and that reality persists. No matter how long I’ve been on this journey, I still don’t feel like I’ve mastered parenting. But one truth remains clear: if I can just hold on for that next smile, everything will be alright. That’s where the love resides. That’s the miracle.
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Summary:
In her heartfelt reflection, Emily Johnson shares her experience as a new mother, capturing the initial struggles of bonding with her baby. She emphasizes the often-overlooked reality that love may not come instantaneously and encourages new moms to persevere through the tough early days. Ultimately, she conveys that the joy of parenthood is found in those magical moments, like a child’s first smile, which heal and transform the challenges of motherhood into a fulfilling journey.