Tonight I watched the latest episode of
Emily Owens, MD on Video on Demand, and one of the cases featured was about a baby who needed heart surgery in utero if he was going to have any chance at survival. I watched the mother cry and clutch her round belly, and it made me think about the relationship I had with Euan before he was born.
Back then he wasn't yet a he, and to Blaine and I he was Echo or Baby E (because though we didn't know what we were having, our top boy and girl names both started with "E"). Even after I started feeling movement, the baby in my belly remained an amazingly abstract concept for me. In fact, for several weeks after Euan was born, I still referred to Euan and "the baby" as if they were separate entities. I had trouble reconciling the fact that they were one and the same. Now, looking back, I can see that part of the emotional upheaval I experienced in the first few days after Euan's birth wasn't just the result of gushing hormones; I was mourning the end of my pregnancy. Even though I was celebrating the (earlier than planned) birth of my son, I longed for the intimacy of carrying him inside of me. In the immediate aftermath of his birth, I didn't feel the same connection.
I feel terrible admitting that here, and for weeks--if not months--after Euan was born, I thought I must be a horrible mother because of it. I think Euan was at least a month old before I said to him "I love you" out loud. I thought it every time I kissed him and laid him down to sleep, but for what felt like the longest time I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud, and I didn't know why. I've thought about it a lot in the months since, however, and I think I've figured it out. The thing was, Euan was a stranger. I recognized him from his pictures (I'd had many ultrasounds in the weeks before he arrived), but I didn't
know him. We didn't know each other.
The reason I can admit all this here, though, is because things have changed. Euan still isn't "the baby," but now he's
my baby, and there are no words to describe that love. Now I say, "I love you, baby" a hundred times a day, without thinking about it, simply because I can't
not say it. Euan and I have known each other for nearly 18 months now, and we've "become accustomed to each other's faces," as the refrain goes. The relationship isn't always perfect--he gets frustrated, I get impatient--but there is
absolutely nothing like it. When I was pregnant I may have carried his body inside mine, but now I know I carry his heart. Corny? Maybe. Amazing? Awesome? Unparalleled? Definitely. What can I say? He's my son.
Back then he wasn't yet a he, and to Blaine and I he was Echo or Baby E (because though we didn't know what we were having, our top boy and girl names both started with "E"). Even after I started feeling movement, the baby in my belly remained an amazingly abstract concept for me. In fact, for several weeks after Euan was born, I still referred to Euan and "the baby" as if they were separate entities. I had trouble reconciling the fact that they were one and the same. Now, looking back, I can see that part of the emotional upheaval I experienced in the first few days after Euan's birth wasn't just the result of gushing hormones; I was mourning the end of my pregnancy. Even though I was celebrating the (earlier than planned) birth of my son, I longed for the intimacy of carrying him inside of me. In the immediate aftermath of his birth, I didn't feel the same connection.
I feel terrible admitting that here, and for weeks--if not months--after Euan was born, I thought I must be a horrible mother because of it. I think Euan was at least a month old before I said to him "I love you" out loud. I thought it every time I kissed him and laid him down to sleep, but for what felt like the longest time I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud, and I didn't know why. I've thought about it a lot in the months since, however, and I think I've figured it out. The thing was, Euan was a stranger. I recognized him from his pictures (I'd had many ultrasounds in the weeks before he arrived), but I didn't know him. We didn't know each other. 
The reason I can admit all this here, though, is because things have changed. Euan still isn't "the baby," but now he's my baby, and there are no words to describe that love. Now I say, "I love you, baby" a hundred times a day, without thinking about it, simply because I can't not say it. Euan and I have known each other for nearly 18 months now, and we've "become accustomed to each other's faces," as the refrain goes. The relationship isn't always perfect--he gets frustrated, I get impatient--but there is absolutely nothing like it. When I was pregnant I may have carried his body inside mine, but now I know I carry his heart. Corny? Maybe. Amazing? Awesome? Unparalleled? Definitely. What can I say? He's my son.
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