The guilt of the (not instant) bond

I had a few very neurotic weeks before baby Peanut was born. I should probably post his birth story at some point, but in short, we had what looked like a big baby with a huge head ("but it doesn't look like hydrocephalus!" said my doctor, cheerfully, scaring the crap out of me), not a lot of fluid left and a baby that would not engage my pelvis. So at 39w1d I was induced (though labor had started the night before on its own, really slowly) and my water broke at 1:20 pm, stained with meconium. A c-section followed and at 2:22 baby Peanut was born.

I remember many things about the operating table. Cookie was not feeling very well looking at the gory show. I was staaaarving. The cap kept falling over my eyes and Cookie and a nurse kept pulling it back. Being tied like Christ at the cross (that was super unnerving!). Chatting with the doctors. Then the pressure on my chest, the pulling and the weird feeling of a crowbar trying to dislodge the baby. Then the cries, the chaos of Cookie taking (notttt alloweeeddd) pics, missing the APGAR score, then the ped quickly showing the baby to me and shoving him close to my face. I was pretty confused as to what he wanted me to do then, so I kissed the baby's face hoping that's what he expected.

And that's the thing. I did it because I thought that's what *he* expected, not out of a huge rush of emotions and love and relief or any of the things I expected to feel. In fact, I felt... Hungry. That was it. They took the baby away, Cookie left with the ped, and the doctors kept chatting while they closed me up, and I felt impatient. It took them about an hour to finish, then another hour in recovery listening to my anesthesiologist chat with the nurses and eat lunch and take a nap, while I lay there willing the epi to wearoffwearoffWEAROFFFF I'm starvingggg. I wanted to see the baby, of course, but mostly I wanted to see Cookie and talk with him and not be in recovery. 

We stayed at the hospital for two nights, and I think the endless influx of visitors certainly didn't help me to bond with the baby. I kept waiting for that feeling I had read about to wash over me, that sudden engulfing wave of love to take me over and I felt... Determined. To give this baby my best. To recover quickly. To keep my sanity. 

The first 8 weeks after the birth or so, I knew there was something wrong with how I felt. I read that not all moms bond with their baby instantly, and I held on to that, giving myself time. But I felt a profound disconnections between my pregnancy and my baby. I don't know if it was the c-section, or if it was my brain's way of protecting me from my fear at the time: I had wanted a natural birth and I cried as they wheeled me to the operating room, not from the loss of the natural experience -or at least not just because of that- but out of fear of the procedure itself. I was afraid of dying on the table or that something had already happened to the baby. So maybe my brain decided that nope, this was unrelated! To anything! And the birth was just not-related-to-the-baby. I'm not sure this makes sense. But Cookie kept telling me, with his eyes full of love and tenderness, that the baby loved me, couldn't I see how he looked at me, how he calmed as soon as I held him? And I was almost robotic. "The baby knows he needs me to survive, babe. That's all. I wouldn't call that love." Or, "I don't think he's conscious enough to *feel* things, you know." 

I cringe just thinking about it. I wish I had fallen head over heels for him, instead of that robotic-duty thing I had going on. I took care of the baby, I was patient as I had never been in my life, but it was so so hard. I was tired, but I also felt disconnected. Someone had cheated me of the motherly love I was promised. I hadn't had the most, ahem, excited attitude towards the miracleee of lifeeee during pregnancy, what with all the pregnancy weird stuff, so I guess I had somewhat brought this on myself. But it was sad. 

I think it took about 3 months for me to finally feel like hey, I have bonded with the baby! I love him! And I think he loves me back! Not a sudden rush, not the breaking of a wave over me. More like the slow, steady rise of the tide. At some point, almost without noticing, I was submerged. I wish I could have felt this way from the start, since the moment the doctor put his face near mine to kiss and cherish right after he was born. But he just woke up while I was writing this post, squawking and fussing because ughh being awake is the worstttt, and I picked him up and he's sleeping on my chest. And I'm smiling. 

I love you baby Peanut. I'm sorry I was too scared to figure it out from the start.