Last night, I got into bed after my husband and C. Connor was laying there asleep, his little body halfway covered, his chest slowly moving up and down as his breathing evened out, and his face completely relaxed.
Seeing him so peaceful because he knows that he's safe completely takes my breath away. How did I do that? How did WE do that? I looked at him and thought of how perfect he is to me. I laid down beside him and thanked God for giving him to me. I begged Him to PLEASE keep my baby safe.
I've never loved like this until I saw Connor for the first time.
I have a dog. I love my dog. I've had him since I was 15, and his name is Apollo. I tell everyone that he's my first born, and most anyone who knows me knows that it's true. I treated him like a baby, he sleeps in the bed with us, he goes on trips with us, and when I was pregnant with Connor, I was terrified that I wouldn't love him as much as I did Apollo.
I was so wrong.
On November 15, 2013 at 4:38 p.m., I pushed as hard as I could and I saw everyone at the end of the table light up. The nurse laid my son down diagonally on my belly. I looked at him and my only thought was, this is him? He is mine?
He turned his head, wrinkled up his forehead and looked at me with eyes I've only ever seen in a mirror. I started to cry. I touched his arm, and looking back now I think I was scared to pick him up.
Then he started to cry. I have never laughed as hard as I could and cried as hard as I could at the exact same time until the moment I heard his sweet whine. That moment was completely majestic.
Sometimes when I'm breastfeeding, I feel that same burst of love. It feels like inside my body is the 4th of July, like my heart is exploding fireworks. There's no way to explain it. I look at him nursing and he looks up at me with those same mirroring eyes, and I almost can't take it.
I watch his free hand slide across the breast he isn't on. His hands are so soft, not yet callused from play.
I'll nurse him until he falls asleep, his eyes fighting so hard to stay open, but eventually closing. He relaxes and my nipple falls out of his mouth. Sometimes he will wake up immediately and ravage for it, like he'll never have it again. But sometimes he is in such a deep sleep that he just lays there beside it. He lays there beside my heart.
It was hard for me to encompass that I was a mother. It took awhile. I felt like I didn't know this little person who was thrown into my life, or I was thrown into him. I was terrified. What if I screwed up? What if I screwed HIM up? I didn't think I deserved to be the mother to this incredible little being. I thought he needed someone else to love him and raise him. I thought he needed anyone in the world except for me.
I would nurse him and think about how I couldn't do it. I couldn't be a parent. I cried when he cried. I felt like he would only cry when I had him and that he didn't want me.
That's why I kept breastfeeding. I didn't want to, but even more than that, I was terrified I had no other way to be close to him. I had never been around babies and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. So I nursed him. I held him and I let him eat, and I burped him, and we did it all over again.
Eventually, whenever someone else had him, he would watch me. His eyes would move wherever I moved. Relief flooded over me. Even though he only wanted me for milk, for nourishment, at least he wanted me.
Breastfeeding for me was about my son wanting me and loving me, and it turned into something completely wonderful. It turned into something I enjoy doing and I enjoy learning about.
I didn't breastfeed to be better than anyone else or to be more natural. I breastfed because I NEEDED the skin-to-skin. I NEEDED to have a way to bond with my child, because I don't think I would have been able to otherwise.
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