Oh god, I love her
As embarrassing as this is to admit, I am finally, now, understanding why people adore being parents. It is not that I have had no feelings of love for Daisy over the last 2 months; I have. In fact, I felt intense love, along with unexpected (and therefore somewhat traumatizing) feelings of sorrow, loss, fear, and even resentment. I thought, "Okay, this is motherhood. You love your child deeply, but contend with grieving all the time." I was not experiencing joy or happiness or contentment along with the love. It was scary to realize that love did not necessarily equal happiness. I could conceivably love her with all my heart and yet be deeply sad, indefinitely.
But lately that is changing. Although I am very sad about some other things in my life (which I am afraid I can't write or talk about right now), I have been feeling wonderful surges of joy and hope sometimes when I am with Daisy. Some things in my life are over--that remains true. But what a beautiful beginning is occurring, too. She is changing into a person! It felt like it happened overnight--the day she turned 2 months, in fact. If it was a gradual change, then I just didn't experience it that way. Seems like one morning she woke up, looked directly into my eyes, and smiled at me in a way that showed she really *recognized* me.
True, she was smiling before yesterday, and I was laboring to reassure myself that these were actual smiles, not gas or facial spasms. People tried to convince me they were real "social" smiles, and I wanted to believe them because everything I'd read on infant development indicated that she should have a social smile by now. The literature, and other parental testimony, said that she could have a real smile by four weeks, or six at the latest. Now here I was, with a baby going on nine weeks, ashamed to admit that I didn't think she was smiling a real, relational smile, one that showed a connection with and recognition of me. Or, I thought, maybe what I'm seeing ARE the real smiles everyone goes on about, and they just turn out not to be a big deal.
No: I was wrong. They ARE a big deal, and for whatever reason, I didn't see one till yesterday. I recognized it the instant I saw it, and it was worth waiting for. She really looked at me--we looked knowingly at one another--and since that breakthrough moment, it's happened again and again, so it was no fluke or trick of an eager imagination. It happened, actually, when I had given up on looking for it. It doesn't matter now if she was developmentally "behind" other babies. All I care about now is that I finally see some of the reason why other parents are so happy.
But lately that is changing. Although I am very sad about some other things in my life (which I am afraid I can't write or talk about right now), I have been feeling wonderful surges of joy and hope sometimes when I am with Daisy. Some things in my life are over--that remains true. But what a beautiful beginning is occurring, too. She is changing into a person! It felt like it happened overnight--the day she turned 2 months, in fact. If it was a gradual change, then I just didn't experience it that way. Seems like one morning she woke up, looked directly into my eyes, and smiled at me in a way that showed she really *recognized* me.
True, she was smiling before yesterday, and I was laboring to reassure myself that these were actual smiles, not gas or facial spasms. People tried to convince me they were real "social" smiles, and I wanted to believe them because everything I'd read on infant development indicated that she should have a social smile by now. The literature, and other parental testimony, said that she could have a real smile by four weeks, or six at the latest. Now here I was, with a baby going on nine weeks, ashamed to admit that I didn't think she was smiling a real, relational smile, one that showed a connection with and recognition of me. Or, I thought, maybe what I'm seeing ARE the real smiles everyone goes on about, and they just turn out not to be a big deal.
No: I was wrong. They ARE a big deal, and for whatever reason, I didn't see one till yesterday. I recognized it the instant I saw it, and it was worth waiting for. She really looked at me--we looked knowingly at one another--and since that breakthrough moment, it's happened again and again, so it was no fluke or trick of an eager imagination. It happened, actually, when I had given up on looking for it. It doesn't matter now if she was developmentally "behind" other babies. All I care about now is that I finally see some of the reason why other parents are so happy.
posted by Sarah Goss at 11:26 AM
8 Comments:
Sarah,
To your point that love doesn't necessarily = happiness, this is very true. I love each of my boys very much, but there is much in the way of sadness mingled throughout - usually when they experience something sad or painful as a result of my limitations as a parent or just circumstances I can't protect them from. For example, Elijah has my shyness, and in some social situations, I can feel very deeply the painfulness he is experiencing. Or when Nathan gets left out of some activity. Sometimes I would say it is more painful for me than it is for him. Another example when we were in California - we took the kids to Marine World and Elijah had been so excited about the bumper cars, but it turned out he was too short. He was so disappointed, and for some reason, that really bothered me.
Oh Sarah, you made me cry! Happy Days.
Thank you for what you wrote, Albert. I think I probably have a lot in common with you this way. Life has always contained its large component of sadness for me, anyway, and it shouldn't be surprising that parenthood hasn't changed this--if anything, it's intensified it, in some ways. The thought of anything harming her, or of the inevitable disappointments and hard times that are coming her way as she grows up, breaks my heart. I have been looking at her and crying, and feeling it was crazy. I imagined her running for school president and losing, or being on a soccer team and accidentally scoring on her own goalie. I have decided that the love I feel for my own child is "painful, terrifying love." It's also sort of wonderful, to know you can love someone this way, so intimately, that all of their successes and failures, happy and sad times, are as real and vivid to you as your own would be, if not more so...yeah.
...but yes, I am having happy days, too, as Amy said! I have felt not just sad, but lately, happier than I ever have, too. I guess that's the thing: everything is intensified--both the sad AND the happy feelings.
Once I have perfected and patented my formula for a bulletproof invisible shield to go around her wherever she goes, magically shielding her emotions as well as her physical being, I'm guessing it will all be smooth, happy sailing from then on :-)
...but to temper my comments, there are also lots of days where I want to wring my kids' necks. When we were in Michigan last weekend for my sister's graduation, her boyfriend told me our kids are cute. I said, yeah - it's good to be reminded of that once in awhile.
Sarah,
Yes, sad, terrifying and happy in fluctuating waves. It too breaks my heart to think of anyone even hurting her feelings. I think there may have been something to that send them off to the convent idea! only joking:)
Ah, and then there will come a time when you can barely read the news anymore. The news these days, for the past 8 years, seems to be of unspeakable things done to children. I weep, on average, about once every two weeks. It boggles the mind, what people do. You may come to the stage where you see every child as your child.
And you know--those were smiles all along. There's no such thing as a gas smile....
Oh yes-- I agree-- I was getting real smiles before 8-9 weeks. They were real smiles, but... somehow, they got a little different at that point. More eye connection or something. I felt like she was really looking at me. Exciting.
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