I didn’t fall in love with my daughter right away.
Most mothers would say they fell in love with their newborns the first time they laid eyes on their little miracles. I didn’t. After 5 pushes, there she was: pink, beautiful… and a stranger.
On my chest, she cried her heart out, leaving her meconium on my belly. I felt pure bliss, relief clouded my senses. What I didn’t feel though, was the rush of love; that love-at-first sight thing most moms swear by.
What was once an abstract idea of becoming a mother had been realized in this little person I just met. It’s like being in an arranged marriage, only that I knew this person would mean so much to me for the rest of my life. Not at that moment, but it would come.
Today, my heart would almost burst just thinking how much I love her. This love- this kind of love- grew and deepened as the days passed. This love worked its way as I fed her, sang her to sleep, and kissed her fluffy cheeks.
Just like with his daughter, I didn’t fall in love with her dad the first time I saw him. That love also developed overtime. I think, this kind of love, that which takes time to know and grow, is the one that’s going to last.
Her dad has another story to tell. His immense love for his daughter caught him by surprise. In his own words to his sleeping child, “I hated babies until I met you.” Not a very romantic thing to say, but I guess that says a lot.
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