Learning to Like

Loving him was never the problem.
He was tethered to me, quite literally, for ten months.
I grabbed my belly when the car stopped suddenly.
I counted his tiny feet kicking me,
just so I would know he was okay in there.
With the hands and legs and eyelashes, love grew all the same.
And when he rested on my chest, in his first few moments,
love appeared as well.
No, loving him was never the problem.

It was liking him that I was not so sure about.
Especially when we came home and we didn't sleep.
Especially when I sat in a chair and offered my breast
for hours on end, unable to move, to think,
to do anything other than cry.
I would love him and feed him and hold him and all the things
I was supposed to do.
But I didn't think I'd ever like it. Or him.

Words not to be uttered by a mother.
She should be enamored and never feel anything else.
She should understand sacrifice from day one.
She should be able to cope, having never lived it before.
She should never say that she isn't sure she likes her job as mother.
And she should definitely never say she isn't sure she likes her baby.

So for every woman, mother, newborn caretaker,
who struggles, who wants to crawl into bed and never get out,
who wants to return the baby because it's suddenly so overwhelming to feel
totally and completely incapable,
who thinks she'll be a bad mother for admitting it

I wrote these words.

I wrote these words because after just two weeks, I find that I not only love my son, but I am starting to really like him, too. And it's honest. It developed. It's not because I feel like I have to like him, but because I started to understand him and learn about him. And only then did I know that there will be great moments of uncontrollable laughter with him. There will be times when I am so proud I cry as hard as I did when I was so overwhelmed by his first week at home.

And now I just hope that as he starts to understand and learn more about me, that he likes me just the same.