I felt intensely bonded to my firstborn to the point where I sometimes thought other people who loved her as well felt that I was denying them their opportunities to connect with her. I ultimately saw myself gradually loosen my grip that way and appreciated seeing her enjoy her time with close friends and relatives, many of whom had awaited her arrival anxiously alongside us. I never doubted my commitment to mothering her and considered myself very dedicated. Her father and I also wanted her to experience the bond of a sibling. Getting pregnant a second time proved even less easy than the first and our daughter would be nearly to her 4th birthday by the time her brother’s due date came around.
{ Photo Credit: Emily Elizabeth Photography }
When we found out we were expecting a second child I noticed immediately a difference in my internal, spiritual connection to the babe in-utero, as opposed to our daughter who I’d felt immediately and consistently attuned to. I worried about this a bit but had heard similar things from other moms of two or more and so I felt normal, less strange and that quelled my worries.
When we found out that we were expecting a boy the second pregnancy, I was shocked. Then worried. “I won’t know what to do with him”, I thought. But I had friends with little boys. I knew they’d hold me up. And I had friends who felt this way about the girls they learned they were expecting. My best friend had a baby boy, her second child, and she hosted a very thoughtful brunch for me with other mommies, some of whom had sons and all of whom had wonderful men in their lives (husbands, fathers, brothers) that they spoke about. Their encouragement curbed my fears and I felt less concerned, less scared and less alone.
But some unexpected thing happened after the (sweetest!!) little boy was born, besides my falling instantly into a deep love with him and my concerns about a subsequent-grade quality of bond totally falling away; my heart startled and betrayed me. The moment I had envisioned so tenderly of our sensitive little daughter coming to the hospital to meet her brother for the first time, turned into the first instant I’d realize that my feelings toward her were abruptly shifted. Even all the way up to active labor what I wanted for focus was to look at pictures and videos of our daughter’s angelic face and to hear her lovely little voice – but that same afternoon when the worst parts were over and the new bundle was swaddled for the holding, her entrance into the birthing suite put me instantly on edge. I smiled and spoke as softly as I could but inside I felt like a hurricane was coming. It wasn’t until she was taken away that I finally felt sane again. And our homecoming brought me instantly back to this unrest.
I spent the next 2 months shushing her, begging her to be careful and hoping someone would offer to take her on an outing or into the yard to play or tuck her into bed. I couldn’t breathe comfortably even sometimes until I heard her go. And I would tense up again as soon as she returned. On top of healing from birthing and managing these ill feelings toward my tender-hearted little tyke, I was also navigating extreme guilt about it. I didn’t understand how I could be so betrayed by my maternal heart and so suddenly. I felt unfit and I felt like a monster.
{ Photo Credit: Emily Elizabeth Photography }
One night when my husband asked me if I wanted him to hold the newborn so I could tuck our daughter in (for what would’ve been the first time since we’d gone to the hospital to give birth), I held back a brimming well of tears and mouthed, “no”. Realizing now that the only reason I wasn’t caring for her myself was really because I was choosing not to, I felt so ashamed. He took her to bed and I looked over at my own mother (to whom I am the first born) and she said all the things I was thinking and spoke the feelings I was harboring. She named my guilt for me and there was a release of tension with that, which was helpful but also made me face my shame. She assured me that things would normalize and that my feelings would resolve themselves in time.
This didn’t change how alienating it was for me to see myself as this type of mother. Parents don’t choose favorite children? Well then I must be the worst ever parent because my (involuntary?) favoritism was brazen.
The beautiful thing that began to change this for me first was when I finally started to work up the courage to do what I had done and what had served me so well in my other quandaries and conundrums as a growing mother; I talked to other moms. Talking to peers who were mommies of two or more children, and whispering to them the struggle I was having with this aversion to my lovely, loved and precious toddler was the real turning point. Every one of the, eventually, many, mothers that I dared to reveal my dark feelings to, met me with a compassionate, “oh I get it” and described to me the newborn season of their subsequent children and the turmoil they felt in their own hearts and minds as they settled into a new mixture of energy levels and demands. They all understood and their collective empathy helped to pull me from a darkness that I was really beginning to fear and which my relationship with my child could surely have suffered for immeasurably. The community of mothers around me showed me, through their listening and sharing, that we would be ok.
One amazing mother and professional caregiver told me, “The heart breaks to make more room”.
The best practical insight I got from a a few fellow moms was to actively seek a touch point in each day with my daughter and to find a chance to talk to her alone. This helped. It helped also to find concerted time out of the house alone with her and it helped to remember to focus on getting a good long hug in with her every day (the obvious simplicity of these things certainly broke my heart and shamed me all the more to for not having the basic wisdom to determine them on my own but I settled on: by whatever means necessary if what I came around to was just how to do the right thing then we will forge ahead and not bemoan the lag or daftness). And truly none of these small connections magically transformed my heart at one time – but they helped, they helped a little more each day and slowly I felt softer and remembered that really big place in my heart where that first baby carved out her space and I found that there was plenty of room for everyone.
The way to feeling less alone, ashamed, confused, guilty, and scared – to feeling more understood, supported, normal and competent (and, if you find some really good ones, joyful too) is to have friends alongside you who are doing it or have done it all, too. That is the beauty of colleagues in mothering; the gift of mamaraderie.
