On My First Mother’s Day

My daughter and I for her three month, professional photoshoot.

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.


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