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You don’t have to love your baby from birth

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This is what I want to say to you. That you might not love your baby from point zero, and that’s completely okay. It’s normal.

I won’t say we’re ‘sold’ a myth because it’s not as if there’s some great big conspiracy out there, but it’s fair to say that the dominant narrative is that when your baby is born you’re clobbered over the head with a mallet that leaves you swooning, seeing stars, and overwhelmed by a love the likes of which you never knew could exist.

I am sure for some people that is the case. But for many others birth

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is such an overwhelming experience, physically and emotionally, that we are left sucked of the ability to feel much of anything. Even those who have had a relatively straightforward birth can see it as a trauma. Well, a trauma leaves you in shock. Numb.

In my case, I was left deadened for reasons I won’t go into here. I don’t want to recount the details of bringing my child into the world and I don’t want to make this letter to the prospective and potential mums out there about that. It happened; I got over it.

What I will say is that not

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only might you not love your child from the outset, but you might even feel something more like detachment and bewilderment. You might feel extreme levels of anxiety about suddenly being responsible for this tiny, surely-so-easily-breakable specimen of a human being. All this is normal.

In my case, in the head-dizzying swamp of post-birth infection what I actually felt, for the first time in my life, was an acute, tangible fear of death. What I thought was that I so desperately wanted to live. And not so much for my baby, but for myself. I admit I

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actually even thought that if one of us had to go, rather him than me because he had no concept of death, no fear, but I did. I knew what it meant.

Perhaps this is a shocking admission. Perhaps it’s not. I will say that this took place when I was barely capable of thinking. And in spite of my tendency towards self-flagellation, I managed to see this for what it was. A temporary perspective born out of fear, and one that would surely soon pass. And it did.

My love for my son quickly turned various corners. I was so aware of the

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societally-pressured need to feel that I had bonded with him that I analysed each of those pivotal moments. Which is silly. Love can’t be rationalised and studied at a remove. It just is.

The wonderful thing for me in all this is that the love I felt for my tiny infant bears no relation to the deep, bubbling passion I burst with for his toddler self. As his quirky personality manifests itself more and more each day, as our ability to communicate with each other builds, with each hug he spontaneously gives me, I love him more. And more.

It might

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be that we each have a period in which we most powerfully connect with our children. For some I have known, this happens when they are teens, even adults. Who knows whether for me it’s the early toddler phase. But I do know that there’s no reason I – we – should believe that we must feel tidal waves of love for our babies as soon as they are born.

We are not bad mothers if we do not. We are mothers. We are adjusting. We will love in our own way, at our own pace.

 

Motherhood is different for all of us… if you’d like to share

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your thoughts, why not join our Network & start posting?
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- 24 Nov 14

This is what I want to say to you. That you might not love your baby from point zero, and that’s completely okay. It’s normal.

I won’t say we’re ‘sold’ a myth because it’s not as if there’s some great big conspiracy out there, but it’s fair to say that the dominant narrative is that when your baby is born you’re clobbered over the head with a mallet that leaves you swooning, seeing stars, and overwhelmed by a love the likes of which you never knew could exist.

I am sure for some people that is the case. But for many others birth is such an overwhelming experience, physically and emotionally, that we are left sucked of the ability to feel much of anything. Even those who have had a relatively straightforward birth can see it as a trauma. Well, a trauma leaves you in shock. Numb.

In my case, I was left deadened for reasons I won’t go into here. I don’t want to recount the details of bringing my child into the world and I don’t want to make this letter to the prospective and potential mums out there about that. It happened; I got over it.

What I will say is that not only might you not love your child from the outset, but you might even feel something more like detachment and bewilderment. You might feel extreme levels of anxiety about suddenly being responsible for this tiny, surely-so-easily-breakable specimen of a human being. All this is normal.

In my case, in the head-dizzying swamp of post-birth infection what I actually felt, for the first time in my life, was an acute, tangible fear of death. What I thought was that I so desperately wanted to live. And not so much for my baby, but for myself. I admit I actually even thought that if one of us had to go, rather him than me because he had no concept of death, no fear, but I did. I knew what it meant.

Perhaps this is a shocking admission. Perhaps it’s not. I will say that this took place when I was barely capable of thinking. And in spite of my tendency towards self-flagellation, I managed to see this for what it was. A temporary perspective born out of fear, and one that would surely soon pass. And it did.

My love for my son quickly turned various corners. I was so aware of the societally-pressured need to feel that I had bonded with him that I analysed each of those pivotal moments. Which is silly. Love can’t be rationalised and studied at a remove. It just is.

The wonderful thing for me in all this is that the love I felt for my tiny infant bears no relation to the deep, bubbling passion I burst with for his toddler self. As his quirky personality manifests itself more and more each day, as our ability to communicate with each other builds, with each hug he spontaneously gives me, I love him more. And more.

It might be that we each have a period in which we most powerfully connect with our children. For some I have known, this happens when they are teens, even adults. Who knows whether for me it’s the early toddler phase. But I do know that there’s no reason I – we – should believe that we must feel tidal waves of love for our babies as soon as they are born.

We are not bad mothers if we do not. We are mothers. We are adjusting. We will love in our own way, at our own pace.

 

Motherhood is different for all of us… if you’d like to share your thoughts, why not join our Network & start posting?

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Louise is a marketing consultant and mother to toddler Rory. She constantly finds herself thinking that her son is the most amazing thing in the world and she can't believe he exists, but a few seconds later that she must get away from the tantrums right this second and have a holiday... Where is her husband when she needs him?!

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