I mean, I love my family, I love my mom, I love my husband, I love my in-laws, and I love my friends, so I knew what to expect when I had Jonathan in regard to how I would feel about him right?
WRONG
The love you feel for your own child is completely different than any other you have ever felt. And much to my husband's denial, I think a Mother's love is more potent. The fact that you shared your body with that child for almost a year gives you a special connection that you will never have with another being.
My love for Jonathan is all-encompassing and at times overwhelming. It is so powerful that I can't imagine even a class 5 hurricane coming close to the strength of my feelings. It is hard to imagine even having these types of emotions for another child and if I did, it seems as if my heart would have to physically become larger to hold it all.
When I look at him I don't see his flaws - like the fact that his skull hasn't shaped roundly yet because of the preference he has for sleeping facing one direction. I only see the perfection of the little boy in my arms, that I could now not fathom my life without.
I think back to my pregnancy.
My disbelief that I was indeed pregnant until after going to the Dr. Thinking it was still a mistake until that first OB appt. when we saw our "little peanut" on the ultrasound.
The worry EVERY time time I went to my monthly OB visits, afraid that the heartbeat I so looked forward to hearing, would be gone. The cold sweat I broke into at one appt. when it took her a few minutes to locate that heartbeat.
The guilt I felt when we were told there was a pee pee in the ultrasound after being disappointed that we weren't' having a girl. I felt those twin emotions until he was delivered and then I couldn't imagine loving a little girl any more than I loved that little boy with all that curly hair.
The relief I felt when he come out 7 weeks early and cried right away. The sense of loss that I felt not being able to hold him in the delivery room, every mother's right, because I had too much anesthesia in my system and I couldn't feel anything from my neck down.
The helplessness I felt seeing my son in the NICU and not being able to "make it better". I mean, isn't that was a mother is supposed to do for their child? The "what could I have done better" questions every single time I walked down the hallway too and from Jonathan's room at Toledo Children's Hospital.
The guilt I felt for feeling lucky about the fact that we had nurses to help us with his care in the beginning when we knew nothing about babies and when I was healing from the surgery.Lucky should have been the last thing that I felt when my son was hooked up to monitoring wires and getting his food through a tube that went in through his nose, and down into his belly.
The relief , backhanded with shame, I felt one morning when I heard that a couple had lost their twins during the night and thanked a higher power that it wasn't Chris and I grieving the loss of our child.
The red hot seething anger I felt when I called one morning close to the end and was told that a nurse, who was too lazy to take a few extra minutes, put a feeding tube in Jonathan (who had been without one for 3 days). It was a good thing she wasn't there when I got to the hospital.
The choking fear I felt when we packed him up to bring him home. Would I be a good mother? Would I know what to do? Who would I have to ask questions to about things I didn't know or wasn't sure about? What if I screwed up?
I think I loved Jonathan from the moment the test results showed positive, even if I didn't know it. And I think that love is what evoked the feelings I had, right or wrong, when it came to him.
Stacey you brought tears to my eyes!
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