A mother's confession:

When I pulled you to my chest after 17 hours of back labor, I recoiled inside a little bit because you honestly looked like my father in law. A tiny slippery red-faced alien, wailing and reaching for me. 

When I was exhausted and hormonal and hated the way you smelled, (What is this baby smell everyone is talking about?) four days after pushing you out, and had to chant, "I love this baby...I love this baby..." to myself as we tried to nurse -- I remember wanting to run away and sobbing so hard in my room, and giving myself a pep talk- "You can fall apart for exactly 30 seconds and then you have to SUCK IT UP and go out to the living room and put on a happy face because people are here!"  

When I was in the ICU 'pumping & dumping' every two hours because of all the antibiotics that they threw at me to try and keep me alive -- and the doctor told me I would never breastfeed I thought, "No way. I'm doing this. Let's keep this going." determined that this would be the channel through which I would figure out this bonding thing with you. 

When the night nurse read my chart saw that I was a week post-partum, and casually asked, "So...where's your baby?" I bawled for an hour. 

When I finally came home from the hospital and we figured out how to nurse again, I was so relieved. I thought, now we can get back on track. 

When you rejected every. single. plan. I had in my head for how we would raise you...(breastfeed for years/ co-sleep/ attachment parenting ) and you hated to be held, kissed, snuggled, connected with--you just wanted to run away. all. the. time. even before you could run. I thought it must be all my fault, from the very beginning. That I had missed our chance, our window at bonding. 

When you grew more distant and demanding and didn't speak except to copy your favorite lines from books or kid shows, I thought I failed. 

When you didn't say, "I love you, Mom" until you were four years old, and after working at that simple social exchange for a year...I tried to not let it bother me, but I failed. 

I had so many moments when all of my early childhood training, nannying, babysitting, teaching, practice utterly failed and failed and failed again. 

But you were teaching me how to be YOUR mom. And what YOU needed. And every day we learn a little bit more. And now we're better than ever! Somewhere on this 6-year journey of being your mom we had figured each other out over and over, found our groove and became fiercely attached. 

* * * 
Last month, CPS left their card on my door--( because your 2.5 -year-old sister had bitten your arm--and someone thought that was a red flag)  I thought...don't they know? Don't they know that every waking minute is in service of keeping you safe and happy? When my ability as your mother was called into question I thought--don't they know about every little part of our world that has been gone over with a fine tooth comb to make sure that your world is safe? The double locks on all the doors? The specialty diet? The routines, and schedules, and cards? The swings, the sensory spaces? The books, and shows and practice work we do? The hovering helicopter mom I have become in order to keep you safe? (Since your fear filter doesn't work?) 

Still--all I could think of was that you would be so confused, upset, and hurt to be taken away from us and your life here. That they wouldn't know what song to sing to you in order to help you calm down. They wouldn't know the exact way you *need* you eat your sandwich in order to be happy. Or how you put your shoes on the wrong feet sometimes on purpose because it feels better to you. They wouldn't know your patterns of conversation or the world that's inside your head. They wouldn't know that you can climb walls...or escape over fences, that you're drawn to water, or strangers & dogs. And that if it came to it, I would fight tooth and nail to keep you with me.

The thought that they could take you away left me shaken, breathless, angry and terribly upset. 
(It still does) Luckily--the caseworker had no issues with you, or our home, or your father and me. 

* * * 

To the alien baby that turned into a beautiful toddler in her own special world, who then became this wild and wonderful child---you made me a different kind of mama in a way I couldn't have foreseen. It's been a bumpy ride at times, but oh how I love you.