I know, I know. Shocking... and not, right? But it's not what you think. After a lot of thinking and a lot of talking, I've determined that I have never wanted a baby; I have wanted children. Let me explain.
If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I have never been - and probably never will be - a kid person. There are some people who, when they see a baby, feel drawn to it as if by a mysterious force. They just have to pinch her little cheeks or pick him up for a cuddle. Not me. This is no new revelation for me, but it has become more obvious lately because my best friend just had a baby.
Now, I had a very intimate role in my friend's birthing process. More intimate than most, I'd imagine. Due to complications, the dad was not going to be able to attend the birth, so I volunteered to be her "birthing buddy." I wasn't sure exactly how that would go and I was a little nervous about it for several reasons, not the least of which was losing triplets less than four months prior. But I was determined to do it... and do it I did.
When the time came, I took her to the hospital and stayed with her through the night during contractions, epidurals, walking the floors, dilation, and small failed attempts at rest. I even had the "daddy bracelet" which meant that, other than Mom, I was the only one who could sleep in the room or visit the nursery, if he was taken there for any reason. Up until this point, people had asked me how I felt about my best friend being pregnant. (We were only about three weeks apart, gestationally.) And honestly, it hadn't really bothered me. I knew the birth would be a different ballgame, but I also knew it would be much different than my own experiences, so I hoped that would be enough to get me through.
And indeed it was. I was front row for the baby's birth - yeah, literally holding her legs while she pushed. There was no hiding from what was really going on and at times, it was hard. But I'd find something benign to focus on, like the clock, get myself evened out and jump back in. There were only two moments when I really lost it and, all things considered, I think that was pretty good. But that's not the story I meant to tell. For me, the revelation came a bit later.
It really wasn't until after my friend had been moved up into Postpartum and I held her son for the first time that I realized that I really had no emotional attachment to this child. Other than being his mom, I couldn't have been in a more intimate position in his life at that moment, but I understood what an increasingly growing number of parents are saying about not experiencing that love at first sight moment with their infants. I loved this little guy, but I wasn't in love with him. And, if I am really honest with myself, that's kind of how I felt about our own children. With Ewan, I didn't know how to feel. It was so foreign and strange to have this little thing on my chest. I had no idea what to do with him. When Sebastian and Amelia were set in the same place two days later, I felt a slightly stronger connection, but I didn't know how to be in love with them yet. And, tragically, I won't have the chance to develop that love with them.
So what does this make me? I'm the one who paid $13,000 to have babies and I'm now admitting that I didn't love them. What's wrong with me?! Nothing. (At least I hope not.) I think it's perfectly normal to not know how to love your first baby. This doesn't mean that I don't miss ours terribly. But I think the difference is that I mourn our children, not our babies. What I mean is that I don't want a baby. I don't yearn for little wiggling arms and squished up faces. If that was the case, then I think I would have been a wreck during my friend's delivery and I would be fawning over every little one I could get my hands on. But I'm not. What I want is our children. I want to experience their baby years, of course; but it's more about them as people than as infants, toddlers or teens. When I mourn for them, it's for the people they could have been, not the preemies we held for a precious few hours. And oddly enough, this brings me comfort and it is allowing me patience. I think if it was a baby I wanted, I would be yearning after them left and right (especially since everyone around me seems to be pregnant and popping out babies). But I don't want a baby; I want our child. And for that, I think I can wait.
