I often wonder if I’ll ever find the right words to truly capture the love I feel for my kids. If I could quantify it, I’d hand you a number, but as it stands, nothing quite matches the simple, unrefined declaration made by those of us fortunate enough to have experienced love as children—arms wide open, we exclaim, “I love you this much!”
My son, Alex, is the kindest soul. He has this charming habit of pausing whatever we’re doing—be it bedtime preparation or cooking—to ensure we’re listening when he says, “I love you, Dad. You’re the best!” or “Mom, I love you more than anything!” My heart swells as I respond, “Oh, Alex, I love you more than words can say. You’re truly amazing.”
I wish we had a more sophisticated vocabulary to express our feelings as parents. The emotions are intense—frustrations, joys, exhaustion, and elation all blend together. The moment I fell in love with my child was instantaneous, awakening a depth of feeling I never knew existed. This love flows from me in every conceivable way.
Growing up, I didn’t fully grasp the love I received until I experienced it from the other side. Looking deeply at my child, I felt a bond so profound it felt tangible, like something I could reach out and hold onto.
Then there’s my youngest, Noah, my little explorer, whose curiosity knows no bounds. He’s always trying to keep up with his big brother, which looks a bit different coming from a younger sibling. His quiet moments, however, are the ones that truly steal my heart. When he smiles while our heads share a pillow, he opens up about his thoughts, dreams, and how much he loves Mommy, Alex, and me. He builds bridges of connection, one thoughtful moment at a time. It’s pure magic.
Yet, alongside this newfound love comes a parallel fear. A fear that is uniquely tied to my affection for these boys. I find myself acutely aware of the potential for tragedy. They have cracked open my heart, making me hyper-aware of the dangers that lurk in the world. It’s a reality that transformed my perspective entirely.
In the early days, this fear paralyzed my partner and me. No one warns you about the weight of parental anxieties; instead, they focus on sleepless nights and the joys of babies. But what they don’t mention is the dark thoughts that can creep into your mind.
I never feared my own mortality until I realized its impact on my children. Now, if my partner merely has a cough, I momentarily spiral into thoughts of something far worse. If I’m cooking and they’re running late, my imagination races to dark places—visualizing them in a horrific accident. I know, it’s morbid—but in the blink of an eye, those thoughts flicker out, replaced by trivial concerns, like whether to use the last of the celery that Alex loves or if Noah will actually eat the green beans.
I don’t know the word to describe this whirlwind of joy, dread, and monotony, but surely there should be one. It’s a universal sensation that remains elusive until the moment you fall in love with your child—then it becomes an unshakeable part of your life.
For more insights and relatable stories, check out our other blog post here. And if you’re looking for reliable information on home insemination, visit Make a Mom or explore the options available through UCSF for pregnancy and home insemination resources.
In summary, the love for our children is profound and complex, filled with joy, fear, and a whirlwind of emotions that transform our lives.