I finally experienced the profound love for my son the weekend following his first birthday. It was a balmy August evening when my husband was away, and I took Max out for dinner with my mom and siblings. The air was sweet with the scent of summer, and laughter from children filled the atmosphere. While we waited for our table, I took Max to a nearby playground that overlooked the water. His giggles erupted as he pointed towards the slide, and as he held my fingers tightly, his seven-toothed grin melted my heart. In that moment, we both discovered a love that would grow exponentially.
Max and I didn’t exactly start off on the best foot. From the moment he was forcibly delivered, covered in his own mess, and rushed to the neonatologist, my husband’s jubilant cries of “It’s a boy!” echoed in the background as I was stitched up. When they finally placed him on my chest, clean but wailing, I felt an innate drive to protect and nurture him. Despite not struggling with breastfeeding or feeling any postpartum depression, our bond felt complex and challenging during those early days.
My husband made significant sacrifices by staying home with Max while I returned to my demanding tech job just ten weeks after giving birth. He managed the endless cycle of diapers, fussiness, and feedings, all while juggling his freelance work during Max’s naptimes. Meanwhile, at work, I pumped milk while navigating emails and international calls, feeling tethered to motherhood through an oscillating machine that drained my energy, leaving me exhausted by the time I got home. I shared night feedings and co-slept with Max but often felt distant and distracted.
Our lives took an unexpected turn when my mother underwent a double lung transplant and moved in with us during her recovery. Suddenly, I was no longer just a working mom trying to balance it all; I became a caretaker and host as well. My mother, though a wonderful guest, occupied our space at a time when we needed to focus on our new family dynamics. The strain on my marriage grew, and I struggled to be present for Max while managing my mother’s needs.
Throughout my pregnancy, I drove 60 miles each way to help my mother, who was in the final stages of her illness. I provided assistance with chores that could wait, but as my due date approached, it became evident that I could no longer juggle both responsibilities. After my mother’s lengthy hospital stay, I made nightly visits to ensure she was progressing well, often returning home to an infant who demanded my attention.
As a result, I lacked quality time with Max during his first six months. When my mother finally moved out, Max was seven months old, and I watched as he developed a deep bond with my husband. Their connection was palpable; Max would light up whenever my husband entered the room, and I felt like an outsider in their world. Max treated me primarily as a source of nourishment, resulting in nursing sessions that left me with bruises from his fidgeting.
When Max’s first birthday approached, life began to settle. My husband’s freelance work flourished, allowing us to spend more time together. I finally emerged from the fog of the previous year and saw a joyful, inquisitive little boy looking back at me with pure affection. He started seeking me out, laughing when I entered the room, and I finally felt a genuine desire to rush home and play with him instead of dreading the arrival. My husband had nurtured my favorite person while I was preoccupied.
While I don’t believe I suffered from postpartum depression, I definitely experienced something akin to survival mode. I have scant memories of Max’s early milestones, like when he first rolled over or laughed. However, I will never forget the day love truly enveloped me. Now, as we cuddle each night before bed and I smell his lavender shampoo, I reflect on the journey we’ve taken. I regret missing parts of his first year, but I cherish every moment we create together now. I hope he stays little just a little longer.
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Summary
I found love for my son after a challenging first year of motherhood. Despite the complexities of balancing work, caregiving, and adjusting to new dynamics, I eventually embraced the joy and connection with my little one.