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I Didn’t Experience the Bond with My Baby During His First Year
Dec. 18, 2023
I finally fell head over heels for my son, Oliver, just after his first birthday. It was a balmy August evening. My husband was away, leaving me with Oliver, my mom, and my siblings for a dinner outing. The air was filled with laughter from nearby kids, and as we waited for our table, I took Oliver to a small playground by the water. His giggles rang out as he pointed at the slide. When he grasped my fingers, looking up with that adorable, crooked smile, something clicked. In that instant, we both felt a rush of love.
Our journey together didn’t start off smoothly. The moment Oliver was delivered via C-section, covered in his own mess, and whisked away for a check-up, I felt a mix of emotions as my husband shouted, “It’s a boy!” while I lay there, stitched up. When they finally placed him on my chest, I was in awe of this tiny creature, but our connection was complicated. I felt the instinct to nurture and protect him, yet our relationship didn’t feel fulfilling.
My husband made significant sacrifices, staying home to care for Oliver while I returned to my demanding tech job just ten weeks after his birth. He managed the chaos of dirty diapers, constant fussiness, and even kept his freelance work afloat during naps. Meanwhile, I pumped milk during meetings and international calls, my connection to motherhood reduced to an oscillating machine that drained me of energy. I handled nighttime feedings and co-sleeping, but I was often preoccupied. We celebrated his milestones, but everything shifted dramatically when my mother had a double lung transplant and moved in with us for her recovery.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just a working mom trying to balance everything; I was a caregiver and hostess too. Even though my mom was a great guest, her presence added to the stress as my husband and I navigated new parenthood. I was stretched thin, having previously driven 60 miles each weekend to support my mom while she battled her illness. Now, with a six-month-old and a demanding job, I struggled to keep up.
Once my mother moved out, Oliver was seven months old, and he and my husband had developed a deep bond. I could see the affection in their interactions, and Oliver would call for “Da-da” with such excitement. Meanwhile, I felt like a milk machine, often bruised from Oliver’s enthusiastic nursing sessions. As his first birthday approached, things began to settle. My husband’s freelance work picked up, and Oliver and I spent more time together. I finally emerged from the fog of the past year and saw a joyful, curious little boy who adored me.
I realized that I didn’t have postpartum depression, but perhaps I experienced postpartum survival. I barely recalled Oliver’s early milestones; I couldn’t tell you when he first rolled over or laughed. However, I will always remember the moment love enveloped me. Now, every night as we cuddle and I inhale the scent of his lavender shampoo, I think about the journey we’ve had. I may not have felt that intense bond until now, but I cherish every moment we have.
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Summary
This heartfelt reflection recounts the author’s challenging first year of motherhood, marked by external pressures and personal struggles, ultimately culminating in a profound bond with her son. The narrative emphasizes the complexities of early motherhood, the importance of support systems, and the eventual blossoming of love between parent and child.