Friends with kids told me I’d love my baby like no other, and feel this yet unknown depth of love. I always thought, you have to believe that. You have to believe all of your struggle and sacrifice is worth it. It’d be miserable otherwise. And then Runner Bean lay on my chest. I got it. I look at this child and think ‘You are magnificent. All I need is to watch you.’
RB does this frog pose on my chest, legs splayed, feet pressed against my ribs and I try to breathe it in, as if I’m feeding my soul. RB makes a sound that is either the final ‘aha aha’ from the Biker Grove credits or the Give it to Me Baby song. It’s like bird song to me. His never ending farty poos make me laugh and make me proud. I think that’s a new response to baby shit. I get lost in RB’s faces. They change all day. My phone is full of photos of RB that to me look so different. To most people they’re identical images of A N Other baby. I know I’m blinded by love and I don’t care. This child is a marvel.
Yet I don’t mean this as anything against people without kids. I don’t believe they’re missing out. I was happy before and I’m still in baby honeymoon. I didn’t look at parents with envy but pity. What a limit to freedom. I think humans are programmed to believe their current lifestyle choice is the best one. When I spent my weekends high at night and asleep in the day I pitied the boring losers who didn’t. Now I get my highs in the day and sleep at night I look at the people drunk all weekend and think ‘Don’t you find that boring?’ And I think that until I fancy going out and getting trollied. Then it’s great fun, not at all boring, let your hair down, loser.
Friends also said I might not want to get trollied after RB’s birth as I said I would. I wasn’t willing to accept that but it’s true. I just want to watch RB, soberly. For now. Again, baby honeymoon…
So my priorities have changed and are changing. I guess welcome to motherhood?