I love him. I love him more than life itself. He’s a beautiful, healthy, wonderful, bouncing baby boy, and I simply could not be happier to see all his little fingers and his little toes. You see, I thought I loved him when I found out I was pregnant. And then I thought I loved him when I first saw his ultra sound. And I thought I loved him when I felt him kick. And I thought I loved him as Richie and I settled on what name to give him. And for a moment there I thought I hated him when I was in the worst parts of my labor.
But now I know that I what I felt at all those times were simply ghosts of an emotion, nothing even close to the real thing. When I look at him, our little Samuel James, our baby SJ, I am so overwhelmed with joy and love and protection that it’s almost painful to think about how much I love him. It almost seems impossible to think about how much I really do want to keep him safe for the rest of my life. I never understood the expression to love something more than life itself, but now I’m grasping the concept. Without SJ, I don’t want the world to exist. It’s that simple.
My mother says I’m hormonal still. She says that I will still love SJ with every fiber of my being, but when I finally crash from the crazy chemicals pumping through my system, I won’t be quite as overwhelmed, quite as fanatical about my love for SJ. I hope she’s right, because I don’t think I can handle being a mother if this is what it is like all the time. It’s just so—everything.
I am so, so lucky that I have my loving and wonderful husband to help. That’s a luxury that my mother never got. And it’s something I don’t think I’ll ever truly forgive my father for.
I’m going to go watch him sleep. Is that weird? I don’t really care anymore.