Birth

Dear Baby Z,

It has been four weeks and a day since you were born, and it has been surreal.

I knew it would be surreal but nothing prepared me for how crazy it is to have a child of your own. I’m not referring to the way days melt into nights that melt into days. Nor am I referring to the meltdowns, complete with your face turning red and your little fist beating against my chest. I’m referring to those days in my early 20s when I knew I wanted a family, but there was no one that I was dating, not sure I would ever find someone, and uncertain if I would ever have a family of my own.

Suddenly, someone I needed walked into my life.

Suddenly, we were married.

Suddenly, there was you.

You were born at 3.4 kg and 51cm. That’s a big boy!

Well, it was not that sudden – we prayed and desired a little bundle of joy. We were hoping for you and all your cuteness, cheekiness and cooing. But we never knew when we would have you (we were hoping to hit New Zealand for a year end trip only to find out that we were pregnant) and when you would be born (we had thought you would arrive on week 37. By week 38, we were praying hard that you would not stay in till week 40! Then on the Monday of week 39 at 7:38am you decided to make your entrance) .

Those were mere adjustments and logistics behind your conception and birth. What we were most unprepared for was the unrealness of calling you our own – a little being wonderfully created by God and having the features of your daddy (you definitely have daddy’s temperament) and me (Cherish that thick crop of hair, baby).

Cuddle Bug, I hope you always remember that despite your furious cries that drive me nuts (especially in the wee hours of the morning and during bath time), or the pains of breastfeeding you (from sore nipples to leaky boobs), or the way I now no longer have the freedom to do things when I like it because I’d drop it all to tend to you, that there is nowhere I would rather be than having you in my arms. One day, being in my arms may not be your favourite spot to sleep in, but those arms will be there for your for as long as I’m around to soothe your scraped knee or broken heart.

Four weeks is the tip of the iceberg of motherhood, and I must admit that in the first few weeks I asked myself how my life had gone from career to changing nappies three times in a row because you were pooping in instalments. There will be more to come, but Daddy and I have no regrets having you.

You may ask, ‘why do parents love their children? Where does all that love come from?’ As I have just found out, we just do from this bottomless pit of our hearts. We love you in ways that we never knew we could and will always be proud to call you our own.