Six weeks postpartum musings

As I got up in the middle of the night tonight (for what feels like the millionth time) to feed you, I was overcome with emotion. Here it was, 6 weeks from the day you were born. I had my postpartum appointment today, and with my doctor's simple "everything looks great!" and wave goodbye, it feels like a chapter has closed. No more appointments on the horizon that have anything to do with what we experienced together six weeks ago. It feels like we've been pushed out of the nest - officially on our own in the world. 

So much has changed in six short weeks; they've been the longest and shortest of my life. And absolutely nothing, no book, no conversation with a mommy friend, no witty blogger, could have prepared me for what I went through physically or emotionally. 

If I'm being perfectly honest, I didn't feel this crazy strong connection to you right away. They say that's normal, but being the person I am, I was sure I'd be an emotional head over heels wreck the second they put you in my arms. And while of course I was emotional and loved every inch of you, all the sudden there was a person in my arms who I had never met. I knew what your kicks and hiccups felt like, but I didn't really know you at all. It felt that way for the first handful of weeks, actually. I have loved and nurtured you, fed you from my body and worried about you every second of every day, but it's only been in the last couple of weeks that it hit me, and hit hard. 

The connection is there and holy cow is it strong. All the cliches about "mother bear" and a "mother's love" suddenly ring so true. I love you with a passion so fierce, it's frightening. Every fiber of my being feels for you. The emotional wreck that I thought I would be on December 9 at 6:49 am, I am now and even more so.

When you finished eating I put you on my shoulder to burp you like always. Only tonight, after one good burp, you laid right there on my shoulder and CUDDLED, breathed softly and rhythmically, and fell asleep. You hadn't really done that before. Maybe you knew that's what I needed. And so I did the only thing I could do. Instead of putting you down in your rock and play so I could go back to sleep like a smart mom would, I cuddled you right back, held your tiny, perfect hand, and cried. Tears of joy at how far we've come, tears of mourning that you've changed so much so quickly knowing I'll never see you this small again, but mostly tears of utter bliss that I get to have this moment here with you while the rest of the world sleeps (and your dad snores softly next to us). After all, my sleep will return; your six week old snuggles won't. 

Thank you, Eleanor Claire. Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.