|Here I am about 29 weeks pregnant.|
I am not that mother.
I remember everything - all the terribly, terribly hard parts of being a new mother. I have not forgotten how miserable I was, how I had no idea how to care for a baby, how horrible breastfeeding was going, how little sleep I had, how emotional I was, how much I just cried, all the time. How my baby didn't smile at me for 2 months and how all I wanted was to just give her back to whoever deemed me fit to be a mother. I did not fall in love at the sight of her. In fact, I didn't even like her very much. I kept waiting for that moment to happen where I would feel like "a mother" and I would fall in love with my baby like all the parenting magazines told me I would. I would tell her I loved her but the words sounded empty and meaningless to me. I was waiting for that magical starry eyed moment that never came.
I honestly don't know when I actually felt honest to goodness love towards my daughter, but it took much longer than I anticipated.
Luckily, it did happen. I do love her and I really like her, too. At 22 months, she's cute, friendly, and charming and she says "hi" to everyone we pass in the grocery store. She likes to push our laundry basket around the house and fill it up with magazines, toys, and whatever she can swipe from our recycling. She has lengthy conversations with herself and of course, she loves jewelry. She even calls Zero's collar a "neckwace". She's cute, I tell you.
|Baby girl loves a good skirt, a good bag, a phone, and some sparkly shoes.|
For 9 more weeks I can remain somewhat optimistic. When the baby actually enters our world, I'll reach for the tissues and remind myself that things will calm down... eventually.... like when they're married. But at least I won't be pregnant anymore and can pour myself all the liquid therapy I need...