I love my baby. She is only two weeks old and it feels like she’s been here forever and I can’t believe that only two weeks ago I was pregnant.
I dote on her. We spend our days and nights together with me feeding her and changing her and rocking her. When she cries I figure out how to comfort her. When she sleeps the smallest noises can wake me and take me to her crib checking to make sure she’s not waking up, needing something from me.
She is my little girl and there’s nothing like her big, bright eyes staring up into mine. I love stroking her cheeks and her soft hair, trying to comfort her the way mother used to comfort me.
But the title of Mom still sounds completely foreign to me.
I’m her mother, I know that I am, but I don’t feel like a mother. I do all the things that mothers do and everyone around me keeps telling me I’m doing well. My instincts and intuition are there and I generally know what she needs, but I guess I am, as usual, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
At some point I feel this little period of good baby and good instincts is going to end and I will spend days crying over a crying baby wondering how I was ever allowed to take this on. At some point being with her and being responsible for her is going to push me over the edge and everything is going to change.