Love

I have discovered that I adore being a mother.

Every time I think that, I immediately can't help but wonder how it all would have worked out if I had kept my son. And then I have to make myself remember how different everything was. And everything was different except for the complete feeling of love the moment they put him in the crook of my arm, all bundled up and perfect. I could not believe I had made something so perfect. I could not believe I could love a baby boy so much. He was wonderful and I know I loved him completely. For the four days I had him, I felt fulfilled and happy and in awe, while simultaneously experiencing a very strong undercurrent of sorrow knowing that my time with him would be very short lived.

Breastfeeding

Breastfeeding is a hot topic and I certainly have my opinions about it now that I am a bf'er. I really liked the way Sweetcoalminer put it into words and I especially resonated with the following two quotes from her post:

I feel like I am always hiding. In the car. My back to everyone else. facing a corner. In the bathroom. This is not how it was meant to be.

....

I just wish I weren't embarassed to nurse her at the gym, at the restaurant, on the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade. I wish I didn't feel like I owe it to society to nurse her before we leave the house so no one will be offended by my act of feeding my kid.

Sweetcoalminer also puts into words (in the same post) what I like so much about breastfeeding my daughter: It has made me slow down and appreciate her.

Clutter

I have so much crap around the house. I watch those organization shows on HGTV from time to time, but it's so vicarious. I can sit and watch those for hours (figuratively ... I think I'd get a little tired after 90 minutes to be honest), think I feel inspired and then look at my crap and get nowhere. It's not so bad that you can't move through the house or anything, it's just your basic clutter. Lots of paper (tucked out of sight for the most part). Tons of books. Gobs of magazines. It's pretty neatly stored and stacked for the most part, but there's way more than I should have. Why do I hang onto it all? I've always been this way - more of a pack rat than I should be. Sure, I justify it by saying it's not as bad as some people. And my mother is one of those who throws things out without a second thought. And my closet is a disaster area. I am really too sentimental for my own good and have stupid stuff like movie stubs. And of course there's always the 'this could come in handy someday' thinking (not the movie stuff, but the shipping box, etc.).

I've always been this way but I wonder why it is that I can't let go.

Clueless?

Every time I leave my daughter in daycare, especially after a weekend where I've had her all to myself for two days, I feel that loss that reminds me of not having my son. I can't help it ... the same mantra goes through my head of what "they tell you", I gave him to capable parents so that I could _________ [fill in the blank: get on with my life doing the things I needed to do to finish growing up, becoming a productive adult, yada yada yada]. Each day I leave her, I hear the voice tell me that I am giving her to a capable daycare provider so I can go to work. Why? Is work so much more important than she is? No. Is what I do when she isn't with me memorable, worthwhile or important? No. But I need to earn a paycheck (since income and health insurance are not to be sneezed at) when I really, really want to be home taking care of her, playing with her, etc.

I can't help feeling that my actions are telling me that my work is more important than she is. It is SO bogus, but for 14+ years I told myself that going to school, earning money, traveling, etc. were all things that needed to be done to make good use of the time to justify not having kept my son. Yet no matter how much I accomplished or how busy I kept myself, I knew I wasn't good enough to be a mother. The act of giving up my own flesh and blood that had grown inside me, a person I loved so instantly and so much, proved that to me.

So every day I am reminded of separation. And this morning, while I forget what the preceding innocuous comment was on giving up something, when my husband said, "But you wouldn't give up [Baby Girl]." My gut felt like it had been kicked and I said instantly with earnest conviction, almost yelled, "Oh, God, NO!" And I just looked at her. I couldn't look at him. How could he say that? That's not something to ever, ever say out loud to me. EVER.

Been Reading

Been busy reading other blogs these past couple of weeks, especially moms who have gone onto parent a child. (thanks kim.kim) I really appreciated Maxine's comment, too, on my bonding post. It's helpful to know that others experience these emotions, thought and fears. I haven't found a lot of posts about these issues, but there are comments here and there and finding them has been wonderful.

I've also spent this time enjoying and appreciating my daughter for who she is. It's actually easy for the time to fly by, spending time with her and taking care of her. And I've been able to let the time fly by - rather than having these thoughts that somehow I need to bottle it all up and save it. Yesterday for the first time I realized that spending time with her is like spending time with a person. That sounds weird and I'm not sure how best to explain it. But rather than this prized possession I've waited 14+ years to have, she is a person with her own personality who spends time with me. (Note: I most definitely know she is a person and not a possession, it's just an analogy.) Sure, I do a lot for her, but I am finally reaching a point where I am letting her be who she is, not the baby I had fantasized about all this time. I'm not concentrating on all the things she doesn't do, like how she doesn't lay her head of my shoulder and fall asleep or how she is different from her brother and how that is a reminder of what I've lost.

Sure parts of me are beginning to worry that I am forgetting her brother, that I am not doing what I need to do to perserve my memories of him. And it's been almost a month since I wrote M the letter asking for more frequent contact so I could learn more about him, and I've heard nothing. In the letter I didn't tell her about my daughter. I wasn't sure I was ready. Okay, I knew I wasn't ready. I wanted to figure out first how I felt about everything - like that'll ever happen. Okay, I wanted to wait until I was ready to share my daughter with her. After all, she has my son.