Overwhelmed With Love

“It is all very surreal.” I told my doctor the day after The Beast was born. The Beast, swaddled in a baby blanket, lay tiny on my legs that were propped up slightly so I could examine her little alien features. I did not feel a deep maternal connection to this little being. I felt terror and exhaustion.

The doctor looked at me and she said, “I know.” She picked up the little alien and continued, “Let me tell you what happens.” She said in her doctor-patient mode voice, “ It all feels new and scary and this little baby goes home with you and you love her now, but in 2 weeks your love will double and every two weeks your love will double for her. And this is what is really surreal—there will come a time—at about six months when you feel you could not love another being more than you love this little creature and then it will happen—your love will double. It is really overwhelming and it does not stop. But you will get use to it—sort of” she said and handed back the little creature and told me to try to rest.

The Beast looked at me with her dark, dark unfocused eyes—I put the little Beast on my chest and relaxed into the sterile hospital bed. “I normally trust modern medicine,” I thought—“we will see…”as we both fell asleep.

The Beast still sometimes falls asleep leaning against my chest with my arms wrapped around her just like that first day. And what my doctor said turned out to be true. If I am not careful I am overwhelmed with love. It could be something so simple as seeing The Beast practice the piano or striding down the street toward us—suddenly it hits me-- like having the wind knocked out of me and I think: How is it possible to love anyone THIS much?

Shopping with the Tween

I know that my approval of any piece of clothing is the kiss of death—so I try to show no expression when The Beast is making her choices in the dressing room. I try not to encourage her one way or another. I am like a character from the Body Snatcher after my body had has been snatched. I watch and hold my breath, my eyes glaze over—I have only veto power for clothes that look too sexy or that are too expensive.

Of course, I put my mother through the same torture. My only regret is that my mother is not here to witness my pain. She would take SUCH joy in hearing my mall stories. Of course she had several years of my parenting woes to enjoy before she died. She would call up and say like a child eager at story-time—“tell me! Tell me! What did The Beast do today?”

And I would tell her…so many stories I had to entertain my mother with “oh—today, when we were out in public, she would not talk—she would only beep—I am sure it is just a matter of time before special services shows up” Or “She told the whole pre-school how we lost her at IKEA...NOT because SHE wandered off—but because we did—it is so important to confirm with the spouse who is watching the child.” Or “The school had ANOTHER draw your family project and guess what we were happily guzzling in the picture—who could have known that a three year old could draw wine glasses so well.”

Well…I just picked up a bunch of clothes for The Beast from “Santa Claus”—clothes that I would not necessarily buy, but she would. Perhaps she will accept them from a mythical being.

My Introduction to Suburban Motherhood

“I call her THE BEAST, what is your baby’s ‘nickname?’”

The perky woman recoiled slightly. She was dressed in an identical outfit to her 2 month old daughter—denim shorts, shirt tied at the belly and a little red bandana on the head...sans diaper...I can only hope.

“Oh...our baby’s nickname is ‘Peanut’ because she is so small.”

“We call our baby 'The Beast' because I am sure she is the spawn of the devil...but I am just guessing. It is SO hard to think with so little sleep, I have not had time to research.”

The big twin tightened her grip on the tiny twin and slowly backed away from me and my Beast Baby.

For heavens sake...cannot new mothers be honest with one another without being judged?