Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Falling in love with Archer

There are things when it comes to the business of having children that are tragic and sometimes dramatically change our view of ourselves, and our children. These things are so rarely discussed, even amongst women who are supposed to be the closest of friends, or even amongst couples, that a woman experiencing them, or recovering from them, can feel very much like she's floating alone and unsupported, or completely misunderstood by those around her. Miscarriage, still birth, traumatic birth experiences. It's an awful feeling, and it's time I aired some of own secret women's business. I want everyone reading this now to know, that this is totally past tense, but I think it should be shared because I believe with all my self that I cannot possibly be the only person ever who has felt these things.

When Lily was born, I fell instantly and totally in love with her. It's so hard to accurately describe this feeling. Punched by love? Perhaps like there was Lily shaped hole in my heart that I was unaware of and it was filled the moment she was born? I don't really know, you can't explain something like that, it really must be experienced. The love quite literally welled out of me.

I remember reading an article not long after Lily was born about women who don't love their newborns right away. I felt sorry for these women, but couldn't imagine experiencing something that looked like an absurdity next to how I had felt.

And when I became pregnant with Archer, I was anticipating this joy, this overwhelming feeling of love. It was like waiting nine months for your next hit of heroine.

But when he was born, I was suddenly very powerfully aware of the absence of this feeling. I looked at him and..... Nothing. Relief, perhaps. But no sincere feeling of love.

I pushed this thought right down to my toes and set about the business of being a new mum. Painted on the right face, and kissed him and held him and said how precious and gorgeous he was. In reality, besides hoping his looks would improve and feeling more than overwhelmed by his insistence on sleeping all day and being awake all night, I was thinking about how hard Lily had fought for life, how she had been so brave and strong and amazing from her very first moments, and here was Archer, big and fat and enjoying his new out of womb life with every minute with his Mummy. I remember how Angelina Jolie once said of newborn Shiloh that she didn't feel as strongly about her as her adopted children because she hadn't had to fight as hard for life. People were horrified, but this is exactly how I felt about Archer when comparing his birth to Lily's. I guess the ugly truth of it was, he hadn't fought hard enough to win my love.

But I continued to wear the painted face of an adoring new mum. Occasionally, I'd be gripped by a FEAR. What happens if I never loved this little guy? What happens if, like some sort of tragic Law and Order episode I found myself suffering from postnatal depression and doing something awful? Not that I entertained thoughts of hurting him, but I did wonder if I didn't love him, how those trying early months would pan out. During our night feedings, I'd kiss him and whisper that I was sorry, I wanted him and now I couldn't love him.

Then we moved to Gosford and things seemed to be looking up. At the very least I liked the little critter. He was a good sleeper and rarely took my time away from things that needed doing or his sister.

And then the 6 week growth spurt hit. All he ever wanted to do was eat and scream. IF he slept it was on one of us. I became furious and tired and OVER IT. There was something I once read about a second born son whose father had said to him, "Your brother was an accident, but you were a mistake." I felt exactly this about my son. I began to wish we had more seriously entertained the thoughts of being "one and done". I was beginning to resent Archer. He was sucking time off Lily (who I didn't think deserved it after all she had been through during the pregnancy), he wasn't sleeping, he was eating constantly. If there was one 2:00am feed where I'd haul him out of the bassinet and say, "C'mon then, you little parasite," there was ten, Sometimes I'd just sob my way through feeds. I even began to entertain thoughts of switching him to formula, so Bob could take at least a little of the burden.

I would tentatively ask Bob, "Do you love Archer? You know, the same way you love Lily?" Cheerily he would reply that of course he did. I would say, "I don't think I do." And he would say, "It'll get better, when he's more interactive and not cluster feeding."

I had the sinking feeling that it would not.

And then, as all things do, it passed. Just when I thought I had no more rope left, it stopped. My sleeping angel was back and I began to feel better. I was liking the little critter again.

And then at 8 weeks he smiled at me. The most beautiful smile. And there it was. Punched by love.

I didn't know it, but the Archer sized hole in my heart had been growing over the eight weeks, and when he had smiled that beautiful smile, he had snapped into his place, right next to his sister where he belonged, and the love welled out of me, tears of gratitude, relief and pure, unconditional love streamed down my face.

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