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Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Falling in Love with Someone Who Doesn't Do Anything (Except Eat, Sleep, Poop and Pee)

Right when Amelia was born, they put her straight onto my chest. I looked down at the squirmy, noisy, small purple monster and wondered about that instant maternal love you hear so much about. I didn't notice any yet. I figured that was okay, though, since 1) she hadn't been here very long, 2) I'd just been through a pretty traumatic ordeal, and 3) my patriarchal blessing seems to indicate we'll eventually like each other lots.

In any case, I certainly was not in the least bit amnesic about the horrors of the recent pregnancy and labor. I thought, Well, I still don't want millions of babies. And I still am I not at all eager to get pregnant again. Or deliver another baby.

By the end of the first day, however, I wasn't wondering about that maternal love. Somehow, it very subtly appeared. Before I knew it, I found my exhausted self blearily staring in adoration at a sleeping baby. And stroking her face lovingly. And cooing softly about how much I love her.

I thought, Yeesh. This makes no sense whatsoever. There is no logical reason to like this creature. It caused me many months of misery and, just recently, an acutely painful experience. It bites my nipples and makes them split and bleed. It keeps me up at night. It doesn't really do anything except eat, sleep, poop, and pee. Why I do I love this thing?

Well, I do. I think she is the most gorgeous baby ever. Or at least she would be if she wasn't yellow. I imagine that if she were in the peak of health, then she'd be the most gorgeous baby ever. I keep meaning to ask my friend Jackie how attractive Amelia actually is. I think I can trust Jackie to tell me bluntly if she looks more like a freaky alien than a cute baby. (This is purely driven by the more scientisty part of my brain.)

I'm sure my maternal adoration is partly the result of oxytocin, endorphins, and dopamine and all those wonderful things. And all those things are pretty predictable, I guess. I'm curious, though, about where all those are coming from in James' brain. He, too, is hopelessly smitten.

Anyway, ta-ta for now,
Jenna and Amelia

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