On Love . . .

You know those moms who declare that, the moment they laid eyes on their wrinkled, wet, smooshed-up infant, they had an instant connection? The ones that felt their life was suddenly, inexorably changed, that felt an immediate surge of love-protective energy power up their exhausted body? These moms couldn't help but proclaim, upon first glancing the literal fruit of their labor, "this kid HAS to be the cutest thing EVER."

Well, I am not one of those moms.

I'm told, upon seeing my wild black hair and squinty eyes, my own mother, drugged up on c-section drugs declared something to the effect of: "She's so ugly. Put her back." And I, too, was not blessed with the love-drenching-blindness upon seeing Lucy for the first time, and then Zander. As they placed my son on my chest just eight weeks ago, for instance, I couldn't help but think "he feels just like a slimy fish." And although I was glad he was out, thus relieving intense pressure and pain, I just had to point out to the nurses and my (slightly annoyed) husband: "He's not cute at all yet. Look at that bruised face and those exhausted eyes." But, to my credit, I also added "But don't worry. He will be."

And so it is with love and parenting and me. When Lucy was first born, I was embarrassed and quite frightened with the lack of instant love I felt. I felt, in the place where love should be, simply exhausted. I resented her constant neediness, and felt numb from the lack of dialogue you can have with a two day old. I feared I wasn't mom material. I failed in the only department that really mattered, the love department.

But then the slow miracle happened. This same miracle has been unfolding again with Zander. Each day, the kid grows on me a little more. And, if the pattern holds this time, by the time we hit Week 12 or so, I will be absolutely head-over-heels in love, and my infant will appear to me to be the cutest infat that ever walked the face of the earth. And I will no longer be a failure in the land of moms. I will simply join the host of other blind fools who think their kids are the smartest, most adorable, funniest things out there.

One more note on love for your children. It aches. My love for my mom, my dad, even my husband, feels sweet and mushy. But the love I have for my kids is fierce, is intense, and isn't altogether pleasant.

But for now, my job is to go nurse my eight week old, who is suddenly becoming more and more lovable by the second . . .