Parental Love

I fell in love with my daughter this afternoon. Since she's two years old, maybe this is a little late, but better late than never, right? The moment was sweet and striking. This post was half written in my head before I remembered that tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

Of course I loved her before now. But I'm not mushy. I was not one of those moms who talks about feeling in love the moment I laid eyes on my newborn baby. Fortunately, I had heard that not all moms feel that way, and it's okay to feel however you feel, so I wasn't very worried about that. I just let new motherhood do its thing while I tried to keep up.

Once, talking to another mom friend of mine, I described my love for Ladybug like the air I breathe, or like water to a fish. I would be lost without her, but the love is so immediate that I couldn't observe it. Or possibly fully appreciate it.

My love tends to be fierce, not sentimental. I do observe how quickly kids grow, but I don't feel wistful because my baby just turned two, for example. I know other women do feel this way, and if I ever forgot, I would just have to check Facebook to see the reminders. When I think of my daughter's birthday, I'm more likely to feel something like: "Darn straight she's two! We've earned that year! Can I take a nap now?"

My parental love is also overly intellectualized. I'm just constantly analyzing myself, and no, I don't think that's a always good thing! In my analysis of parenthood, I have always focused on what I will provide my daughter, without much reference to what I feel or want. I believe, firmly, that she deserves to be nurtured regardless of how she feels about me, or what I'm getting out of the situation. When I have thought about what I get out of being a mother, it has been in terms of personal growth and lessons learned.

Then, this afternoon I went to get Bug after her nap. She woke up slowly, looking up at me occasionally, stretching into odd contortions, and eventually slithering off her bed head first. Now, she has been playing a game of walking with her eyes closed, and sometimes it turns into a sort of Marco Polo thing. So when her feet hit the ground, she closed her eyes and felt her way along the bed toward me. I knelt down so my face would be even with hers when her eyes opened. Then she reached me, opened her eyes and smiled.

And for some reason that was when it struck me: she loves me too. Realizing this opened me up to a whole wave of emotions. The sense of being in a relationship with someone, and of her vulnerability. I have always felt, and accepted, that I am open to her judgment and rejection. I'm just her mother, after all. She has to reject me, and turn me into her backstory. Of course I hope we can have a good relationship when she is an adult, but that comes second to her healthy individuality. But she loves me too, with all the vulnerabilities that go along with loving another human being. Unlike her mother, she loves without intellectualizing it. Her love is unadulterated. How unspeakably precious a state.

Finally, I felt mushy. Tender. About to help her down the stairs, I asked whether she wanted to be carried, and she preferred to walk. And I felt that I would rather carry her, cuddling her close. I kept that feeling to myself while she walked. I can imagine how some people experience parenthood as a series of losses as the child grows.

It feels nice to be loved. Very nice. It's still not the reason for all I do for her. It's still all about her, and her needs come first. Eventually, she will reject me (I hope temporarily), and I will still love her and give to her and do for her. But it feels very nice to be loved.