“He lies on me, skin to skin.
His skin has a similar colour to mine: a cool pink undertone.
His fingers are a reflection of mine: long and delicate.
Yet, the rest, his eyes, his nose, his facial features are from my love. It is a resemblance everybody notices.
He is indeed a darling one, breathing so quietly, I am scared to breathe for his sleep is my delight."
When yesterday our baby boy turned four-month old, I thought I was deep enough in the knowledge of motherhood that I could discuss the topic with wisdom in my eyes and confidence in my voice. Although it would be of utmost ridiculous to be so arrogant in reality, the first few months indeed appeared to be a lifetime. A lifetime, where the chaos of unknown and confusion between nights and days turned into a somewhat of an organized routine and pleasure prevailed exhaustion. After all, some veteran parents started assuring me that it would become easier. And truly, as we gained some confidence, we were no longer attached to the baby only but could allow ourselves to slowly return to activities that for the first month were deserted. One of those activities, for me, certainly is a blog, where a stream of expressed thoughts has no limits that magazine writing, for instance, requires. Thus, four months later, as the baby finally got into a steady routine of naps and feedings, I sat on the patio and wrote everything that summer revealed in a new, wonderfully presented perspective.
According to everything I have heard about becoming a mother, the grand explosion, fireworks of emotions strangely did not occur the moment my boy was laid on my chest by a nurse. Perhaps, I have expected more than the process itself consists of. My body, as per the theory of ‘love you’ve never felt before will cover you’, along with my heart and mind anticipated a flow, a flood if you may, that would start with the head and would go in waves to my toes. Yet, instead of shivers of unexpected feelings, a somewhat of a quiet joy appeared. (That joy, I must say, is much stronger now than it was that eventful day.) It filled my heart as if the most natural thing happened. I say it was not even that noticeable, not even as a complete realization of that great event of my life, but the great event of the birth was accepted by my mind as something as expected as rain in the rainforest.
It was a curious act as if observation from a side where I gazed at a mother, son and father how they united after months of waiting; in a sense it was familiar, it was absolute and clear. Later on, reflecting on the day of our son’s birth I questioned my own senses, I challenged ideas whether I lacked certain emotions and how embarrassed I should be (after all a person of my profession can not be an observer only) until my husband and I discussed it all over. His view resonated with mine, his emotions supported exactly the way I felt for him too, it was entirely natural. We have waited for that baby, we have talked to him, we have prepared a room, we have prepared space in our hearts and minds, he said. That boy, I thought, was a part of our family months before we saw his eyes before we heard his cry.
Someone said that a mother is born again when her baby is born. I do not argue, nor do I agree. As I mentioned before, to me, the boy’s arrival into this world, my world, was a natural, highly expected process, the one we dreamed about, prayed and planned. However, what I had never planned is to lose my identity, to lose everything that mattered to me before in motherhood. In fact, I dare say that he simply fit like a missing piece of the puzzle into our lives. He allowed us to put on new roles of loving parents in which we discovered an abundance of unconditional love, patience and tenderness that filled our whole existence when he giggled for the first time. Such natural acceptance of new roles, of his presence from now on in our house, also contributed to us instead of feeling exhausted, experiencing the richness and inspiration of everything else we do. Such simple tasks as writing a blog post for me are filled with subconscious thoughts that my goal is instead of losing myself entirely in motherhood, was to be content with my life so my child would be content as well.
Speaking of inspiration and changes, something certainly did change: his birth, his first week after we brought the boy back home, his eyes focused on my face, it all developed some sincere, slightly noticeable changes in my smile that acquired warmth and tenderness. The world I saw was greener, greener than before, and love, love was much stronger. What they say about striking emotions might not be the case for everyone. Now, what is the case is love that occupies not only heart but whole reality as one becomes a parent. That love causes tears and prayers for his well-being in the middle of the night and embraces of overwhelming tenderness when he smiles.