I have a lot of childfree friends, whether by choice or by biology. I support them. I even understand them because I was not the type of person who grew up saying she wanted to have kids. I went into marriage saying “maybe.” I would never tell someone that their life will never be complete unless they have a baby because that is bullshit. You are worthwhile. You are enough.
But having my daughter has completed my life.
I have known for a very long time who I was and what I wanted to do. I didn’t realize that I didn’t have a “why.” I didn’t have a purpose. Bells became my why. In the hours after she was born, everything clicked together like jigsaw pieces becoming a coherent picture.
And I was worried about that. I was worried about bonding. I was worried about postpartum depression. I didn’t connect very well with her in the womb because I found pregnancy a wholly awful and weird experience. But it wasn’t hard to love her. I didn’t even have to think about it. Motherhood has been a solely instinctive experience.
I am grateful. I am happy. I am a mom.