I am the non-biological mother to my three children, and my connection with my first child began even before she was born. As my partner carried her, I felt every kick and roll, resting my hands and body against their growing bump. I sang and conversed with our baby throughout the pregnancy, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness. The moment I held her, I knew I was destined to be her mom; it all felt so effortless.
However, when my twins arrived, I anticipated the same joy and connection, but the experience was far more challenging. The second pregnancy brought with it the reality of parenthood—my excitement was overshadowed by the exhaustion of parenting a toddler. While I still engaged with the twins before their birth, from poking at their little feet to nesting, I was apprehensive about balancing my love and attention among three children. Unfortunately, being prepared didn’t yield the emotional connection I had hoped for.
When my twins were born, I felt an immediate love for them, but it lacked the all-consuming rush I had felt with my first. I was happy and relieved, yet distant and frustrated. Caring for them felt like a checklist—diaper changes, feedings, and soothing cries became tasks rather than instinctual acts of love. I grappled with feelings of guilt for not forming a deeper bond with my newborns.
There were several factors that contributed to my struggle. With a toddler demanding my attention, I had less time for bonding with the twins. The chaos of moving into a new home on the same day we brought our babies home added to my overwhelm. I often found myself yearning for the simplicity of my first child’s early days, as my twins were more high-maintenance, which made it difficult to feel affection amidst the noise.
Despite my actions reflecting love—changing diapers, waking for feedings, and bathing—I felt I was merely going through the motions, waiting for maternal feelings to ignite. Then, one day, my daughter grinned at me. It was a cliché moment, but that smile transformed everything. Her dimples melted my heart, and suddenly, I felt the connection I had been missing.
A similar wave of affection washed over me when my son fell ill with the coxsackie virus. As I rocked him, desperately wishing he would sleep so I could attend to my endless to-do list, he finally settled against my chest and sighed deeply. In that moment, I realized I had been the comfort he needed all along.
Though I struggled to bond immediately, I was still a loving mother. It took nearly a year for those deep maternal feelings to fully surface, but my love for my children grew gradually. Even without the physical experience of carrying them, my affection blossomed, just at its own pace.
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In summary, while my journey through motherhood was not as instinctual the second time around, it unfolded in its own time, revealing love and connection in unexpected ways.
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