I am not the most warm, fuzzy, emotional person. I may have been called cold or calloused once, or a hundred times but I do actually have a heart. I am not closed off, but I don’t find it necessary to be outward with my emotions. I will talk about my problems, joys, etc, but in more of a matter of the fact way. I prefer to deal with my things on my own, working them out inwardly and then moving forward. I also don’t love listening to other people’s dramatic outpourings of over-the-top emotional dealings. Reality TV is awful anyway, but in particular it is the huddled scantily clad girls cry/whispering in the bathrooms or the people flipping their shit throwing house plants at one another. In college, the sorority I was in had these things called Fireside Chats, aka my own version of hell. Thirty ponytailed girls in camis and short shorts with “Juicy” or “Pink” across the ass gathered in a circle passing a glowing candle. When the candle was passed to you, it was your turn to say what was on your mind. Somehow, EVERY SINGLE GIRL had some dramatic thing on their mind that led to them breaking down and crying. Plenty of “there-there’s” and hugs later, the candle was passed to me. Shit. I couldn’t even think of a good dramatic problem to make up. And I can’t cry on demand if my life depends on it. I was most likely daydreaming about my latest crush on a boy that didn’t know I existed. Hardly a cry inducing problem that I cared to share with anyone. So I said “I’m just thinking about how great you all are” (cough bullshit! cough), which was met with high pitched squealy “awww!”, me dodging teary hugs and I quickly passed the candle while throwing up in my mouth. I was clearly not cut out to be a sorority girl, I lasted one year. My point is: I’m not a huggy over-the-top lovey gal. Until now.
During OB appointments I loved seeing Wyatt on the ultrasounds, but I managed to stay reserved while my mother lost it in the corner (first grandkid). I smiled hearing his wee hummingbird-like heartbeat, but everything seemed more clinical. I was really excited to meet the baby growing inside and definitely had some of that protectiveness coming out already, but I hadn’t really connected yet. I played music for him, talked to him (I really had a hard time with this, I felt like a crazy person “and this, little person in my belly, is how we pick out good apples at the store”, “now mommy is buying more ice cream and macaroni and cheese because you drive me to it” etc). I knew I would love my kid. Nothing could have prepared me for HOW MUCH I would love him. It is an insane, stalker, crazy person kind of love. I fully expect myself to become a completely overbearing mother. I don’t particularly want be buying his favorite soft undies until he’s 45 because I know how much he loves them, or hold him down and kiss the red spot on the back of his neck in front of his teenage buddies, but I now see how that can happen. I can’t help myself. On my days off after my work stretch I end up holding him for his entire nap just so I can stare at him. I mean really, he’s almost 7 months old. How am I not over this already? Yeah, he’s adorable and chubby. Yes, he has perfect soft skin. Yes, his fuzzy blonde hair is so perfect to kiss. I am still ridiculously obsessed with all of it. All of my previous rational, non-emotional self is gone when it comes to him. I smother him in kisses every chance I get, I joyously talk to him about what his poopy diaper looks like, I promise to buy him his first car after slightly nicking his tiny finger and making him bleed a little bit when I first cut his nails, (damn paper thin micro nails!!), I smile like an idiot whenever I talk about him. I force random people to look at the latest picture of him sitting up on his own. The other day when I got home from work I just held him and smelled him. Took a big giant whiff of his glorious mix of neck cheese, urine, and spit up and then I went back for more. I can’t get enough, it smells amazing to me. My mom once told a story about how in a moment when she was feeling especially protective, she had the sudden urge to lick me. Lick-as in how mama tigers lick their babies. Younger me was appalled and disgusted “oh my god mom, sick! You are so wierd!”. But looking at him now, I find myself wanting to do the same thing. Just a little “you’re mine and I am yours” lick. So here is a message to my mom: I am sorry all those times I rolled my eyes, for pulling away when you tried to hug or kiss me, for sleepless nights (as a baby and a teen), sorry for thinking I knew everything, sorry for one second ever doubting whose side you were on, for teasing you because you STILL remind me to wear my coat when it’s cold and bring me soup when I’m sick, sorry for thinking you were ridiculous crying at my OB appointments. Thabk you for the incredible example of motherhood. I will totally be the same way with Wyatt. Overprotective, crazy in love, kissing despite his embarrassment. I get it now