Queen of the Night.

All I remember after R was delivered was thinking he was huge, thinking his ear was smushed and wondering how we could afford plastic surgery to fix his deformed lobe, and then immediately wondering why he wasn't crying. He eventually did let out that beautiful sound thanks to the fast working nurses at JCMC, but I didn't join him in his tears which surprised me even more than the size of his enormous, curly red haired head.

Reflecting back I wonder how many moms experience this lack of emotions. I watched the videos of live births where the moms would be hysterically crying saying "I love you! I love you!" to their new bundles of joy, and I always assumed that would be me. My experience was much different. It was as if I hit a plateau of emotions and there were no more to be had in those first few weeks. During our 3 day stay at the hospital he was out of my sight and arms for maybe a total of 2 hours. He slept on my chest, I attempted breast feeding as much as possible, and I stared at him with such intensity that I'm not sure I ever blinked. No matter how hard I looked at him, he never looked like my baby. He was beautiful, and I loved him, but it was as if I kept waiting for his parents to come in and take him home.

The next few weeks were exhausting, as they are for any new parent. A took care of R during the days when he wasn't at work and he was without a doubt the stronghold of the family in those long days. I took over the nights. All night long he slept on my chest, and trust me if he would have slept anywhere else he would have but thats the only place he would actually go into a deep slumber. We had a routine of watching late shows, sleeping for 2-3 hours, watching Kardashian re-runs, eating and sleeping, then Gilmore Girls. I now joke that he probably thought he was a Kardashian those first few weeks. However, despite our nightly routine I still often felt like I was in the room with a complete stranger. Then one evening when R was about 6 weeks old I had him propped up on a pillow between my feet, he had just finished eating and I was singing The Queen of the Night aria from Mozart's "The Magic Flute" (who needs Twinkle Little Star when you have Mozart in your brain.) He looked up at me with those big dark eyes and started humming and cooing along. I stopped mid arpeggio and started crying. It was in that very simple, tiny beautiful moment that he was my son. I felt it. We connected, I looked at him and he was without a doubt mine and I loved him more than imaginably possible.

From that moment on our bond has grown to this incredible strength that only other mothers can understand. I still feel like I was cheated out of those first sweet emotions that some mothers have, but I wouldn't trade my experience as the queen of his nights with anyone. I once felt ashamed that I was numb to the emotions of being a new mother for so long, but I now realize if I experienced this phenomenon, I am sure someone else out there has. So, for me there is no shame in honesty.

And by the way, his ear is fine. I'm blaming that crazy thinking on the epidural.