The Unique Pace of Baby Bonding (Or Love Letter to My Two-Month-Old)

With Roy, it hit me like a truck. A big ol’ bulldozer. Like a hungry young prizefighter, or a grand piano whose pulley-rope snapped twenty stories directly above. Bam! I was done for.

A fierce protectiveness expanded inside me so quickly it seized my heart; pushed a boulder into my throat; forced tears from my eyes. I was blind, dizzy, sick in love with this nameless tiny boy, who took his first breath mere moments earlier. Mine, I thought. I can’t believe that he is mine forever.

With Vera, it happened differently. Not to say that I didn’t love her immediately, because I did. I loved her before that, even. Maybe that was part of it. The first time around, I didn’t fully comprehend the connection between baby in tummy and my son until I saw him. Held him. So when I did, the reality of that connection, and everything that comes with it, exploded like a Fourth of July finale.

With Vera, the floodgates were already open. I knew her name. I felt her personality. I had no trouble connecting the thumps jostling my tummy to the little tiny feet kicking from within, connected to roly-poly legs, which I would squeeze and gobble one day soon, which would carry her across a room way too soon after that. I got it. And I could not wait to meet her.

So when she arrived, she was just here. Finally here. There was crazy excitement and pure joy, but not exactly trucks and pianos.

Friends had told me not to worry about loving kid number two. They had worried; didn’t know how that surprising, expansive, all-encompassing love for your firstborn could possibly leave room in your heart for anything else. It grows, they told me. Somehow, it grows.

So I didn’t worry. I just loved her and waited.

I bathed her and slept next to her, with my lips touching her head. I wore her in a sling, pulling up the sides so she could sleep against my chest in darkness and resting my hand on her back to feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing. I took her on walks and named the things that made her eyes wide: Birds. Leaves. Flowers.

I listened to her, too—to the trilling coos directed at stuffed animals dangling above her bouncy chair, to the happy grunts and gulps as she suckled, to the throaty groan-sighs that accompanied whole-body stretches as she woke from deep sleeps. I locked eyes with her and smiled. She smiled back, all slick gums and glossy baby-blue eyes and cheeks so chubby they run seamlessly into second chin.

And then, it happened. I’m not sure exactly when, I just know that I feel it. That crazy-powerful mama-bear love; the I-would-throw-myself-in-front-of-a-bus-for-you love.

My friends were right. My heart grew. Not in one big, painful bang, but in a happy succession of pretty little fireworks.

I can’t believe that she is mine forever.

How did it happen for you, my fellow mamas? Papas, too. Fast or slow?


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  1. by Stefanie

    On April 24, 2012 at 12:51 pm

    I have heard the same thing -not to worry, love can grow. How beautifully stated, Berit – I hope I remember your words when our new little one is here!

  2. by A.

    On April 24, 2012 at 12:55 pm

    It was a slow burn for me. I think I was so nervous about becoming a mom, it overtook feeling an instant head-over-heels love for him. I would say it took going back to work 10 weeks later before the real “mama bear” love came out; I was nervous about leaving him with someone else and my fierceness grew.

    Plus, newborns? Not my favorite thing. Now a two-year-old? I would murder for him.

    If we’re lucky to have another one, I think I’ll feel more mama bear love sooner because my nerves won’t be quite so out of control. But again, my love continues to grow as they get out of the newborn/lump stage. :)

  3. by Kerry

    On April 24, 2012 at 4:26 pm

    I had the gradual thing with my daughter, but man, she is 2-1/2 now and I use that mama bear term all the time in my mind, because it is a huge, ferocious, all-encompassing love. And I worry too about how I can fit all this love for baby #2 that is almost here (<6 weeks!), another daughter. Can I really love 2 children equally and with this MUCH love? But I know I must be able to, because everyone else does it. It works somehow. Funny thing is, my husband thinks the same. He worries that he will always love our oldest daughter the most.

  4. by Melissa

    On April 27, 2012 at 7:44 pm

    I was so nervous going through my entire pregnancy without my sons father envolved that when my beautiful baby boy arrived I felt I had messed everything up. Till one day after I returned home from work my boy looked at me and we were both mesmerized. My heart grew and my love for him grows everyday. As my first and likely only child, I wish I would have been able to bond with him from the first moment I saw him…but all the moments I lost in those first four months or so have already been replaced by the abundance of love and bonding we’ve shared over the past five months. My son turned nine months old yesterday and he is my everything!!!

  5. by Jill Cordes

    On April 30, 2012 at 10:36 pm

    Berit, a friend once told me that while you love the second one just as much, the actual moment of their arrival isn’t as profound. I found that to be the case with Emmett–and I think that’s what I got from you too. I mean, it’s still profound, don’t get me wrong. But just in a different way. It’s a road already traveled and with it comes wisdom and confidence. I loved how you put all this! Thanks for the good read.