Feeling Like a Mommy

Debbie and Suz posted this week regarding bonding with their children. Since this is a topic that has fascinated me for some time, I thought I would post regarding how I've bonded with each of my babies. At times I've been surprised, others amazed, and even disgusted by my responses to motherhood. I'll try to keep it brief, as it could get lengthy with six kids, and honest. This is a journey I'm on and I haven't arrived. Far from it! In so many ways, I'm learning to love my children more and more.
K--instant love vs. instant panic. I remember at first sight of him, from behind the nursery glass, pressing my hand to the pane and whispering with a post-anesthesia croak, "That's my baby...that's my baby." In the most literal sense of the word, it was an incredible thought. I couldn't believe I was a mother. I was just turned twenty and HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS DOING WITH A BABY. Any ooey gooey "love" feelings were shadowed by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I remember thinking, "There is no possible way they are going to let me out of this hospital with a kid," but they did. The master and I had taken a parenting class before he was born, and we clung to it for dear life. If the book said do it, we did. If it said don't, we didn't. Bless his heart, the child was treated more like a science experiment than a baby...but we were so afraid of screwing up! I just knew we were headed down the road to disaster when K didn't take to the breast well, and I had to supplement him with the bottle. I went back to class two weeks after he was born, which compounded my new mommy guilt. I'd failed him! It wasn't until he was around three months old that I stopped looking for the baby police to show up at my door, and it wasn't until six months that I thought, "Wow! This mommy thing is kind of fun. I think I'm going to like this job." As for K himself, he was an adorable baby with a happy, content disposition, which always helps. I do wonder if our stress in parenting him has made him put undo pressure on himself. He can be quite critical of himself. He is mature for his age with many responsibilities and I sometimes forget that he still needs to be treated like a child.
Abby--like mother, like daughter. When Abby arrived two years later, I was much more confident in my role as mother. I was out of school and only working a few days a week. She came on the day she was scheduled, a beautiful child, nursed like a champ and slept through the night by two months. It was easy to bond with her. As she grew and developed personality, we soon realized that she and I are very much alike--to an eery degree. With Abby there are few surprises. I can predict how she will respond to most anything; it's exactly as I would. Now, I'm not saying that is always a good thing, but it is comfortable.
Ian-my Mansie. Ian's pregnancy was not planned. It wasn't that we didn't want more children. We just didn't plan on them making an arrival any time soon. To be honest, I wasn't excited at all to hear I was expecting, and I felt guilty for that. It was my most difficult pregnancy physically (though I know that none of them were truly "difficult" when compared to others'), and I was swollen and miserable. The last two weeks, I was on total bed rest. I have no memories of his birth or the three days following his delivery that we spent in the hospital. What I do remember is the first night we brought him home. He became sick and I sat up with him all night in the rocking chair. That is when I started to fall in love with him. The next day, he was admitted back in the hospital. The nursery being full, we were placed on the otherwise empty pediatric hall, where we spent the next ten days alone together. Me and him. Him and me. Nursing, snuggling, and sleeping. It was the best thing that could have happened to us. To this day, he is my most affectionate baby and I have spoiled him terribly.
Marina--a process. I've tried to share openly on my blogs about our struggles and our victories. I don't know what kind of picture that leaves you with. There are days I'm not certain what our relationship looks like, and I'm living it. Please have no doubt that I love my daughter. I've loved Marina since the day we were handed her referral picture, or at least, I've been in love with the idea of her. And maybe that was part of the problem. I believe the unnatural length of time pre-adoptive parents are "expecting" hinders more than helps the attachment process. It wasn't that we were uneducated about attachment in adoption or the post-institutionalized child, we were. And it wasn't that we didn't know she could very well have special needs; her prenatal exposure and risks were clearly explained. But head knowledge and heart knowledge are two vastly different things. On the one hand, I can honestly say that--if anything--I love Marina more fiercely than the others because ours is a bond that has been tested by fire. On the other hand, in the day-to-day stuff of life, she gets under my skin the fastest and I stay irritated with her the longest. That's the ugly truth, but I'm working on changing it.
Randy--we're all good. I was battle worn and weary from parenting an angry, confused, traumatized toddler (none of which was her fault) and baby Randy restored my faith in myself. Here was something I knew, here was something I was good at. Believing wholeheartily that Randy would be my last infant, I made up my mind to savor the moments. From late night nursings, to first steps, and yes, even potty training...this was my last time, I might as well enjoy it. That philosophy made for a sweet, strong bond with my son. Wish I had caught on to it sooner!
Cara--miracle child. She was a surprise blessing which made her all the more special and, as with Ian, I was able to spend the first three weeks alone with her in the hospital. Being with her from the beginning, I can tell you there is no difference in the way I bonded with her and my birth children. She is my second "last time," and we are loving every minute. I have the most tender, protective feelings for her. She is a living, breathing miracle and not a day passes that I am not again awed that God chose us to be her parents. If she ever becomes ill, my heart will break in two.