When you give birth to your first child, it’s a magical moment. The skies will part, the angels will sing, and the whole world will suddenly fall into place because you will be a mom. At least that’s what they tell you.
As a first-time pregnant mom, you hear all sorts of stories about how beautiful those first moments with your baby are. How you’ll gaze into their eyes and have your every dream fulfilled. But the reality is, that’s not always the case. It certainly wasn’t for me.
After two years of struggling with infertility, I thought I would be overcome with motherly love, mama bear instincts, and an instant change in identity from infertile turtle, to Mom. Instead, the nurse handed me a tiny, screaming, five-and-a-half pound bag of mush, and I felt… confused. All I could do was stare at him.
But not that loving, magical stare of wonderment. It was more of a “what-the-heck-is-this-thing” kind of stare. I remember thinking, “…Aren’t all moms supposed to think their own babies are cute?”
The next few weeks were a blur, but I know they were filled with a lot of nipple cream, a lot of spit up, and a lot of crying all around. My little guy had a tongue tie and reflux, both of which went undiagnosed for over a month, and caused a lot of pain and frustration for both of us. Suffice it to say, bonding was a challenge.
In fact, I spent the majority of my first few weeks resenting him. This wasn’t what I’d stabbed myself with hundreds of needles for. This wasn’t what I’d spent thousands of dollars for. This certainly wasn’t what I’d cried millions of tears for.
Obviously, I just wasn’t meant to be a mom, and I’d forced the issue by doing IVF. So now, I was destined to pay the price.
But then, when he was a little over a month old, an angel of a lactation consultant found his tongue tie, and got him into a pediatric ENT for a quick in-office surgery to revise it. The ENT would use a small blade to carefully release the tongue tie, followed by a laser to cauterize it.
The procedure took a total of, maybe, three minutes, but we could hear every second of it in the form of my son’s screams through the wall. Afterwards, they brought him straight back to us, and I instinctively brought him to my breast and nursed him to calm him down—a task I’d always dreaded and postponed at all costs. Tears streaming down my own face, I held him tightly and gazed down at him while he nursed, and calmed himself down. He only stayed latched for a minute, then just lifted his head and snuggled in close to my chest.
And in that moment, I felt it. I finally knew what it meant to truly be a mom. I knew I was the only thing he needed right then and there, and I knew I would’ve done absolutely anything to stop his pain. I was filled to the brim with love for that tiny, squirmy, screamy baby.
The clouds parted, the angels sang, and I was a mom, forevermore.
