I got a mommy forward recently. It started in its usual style with a rant about dirty nappies and sleepless nights and went on to say seriously heart-twisting things about the way babies make you feel.
I, for once, could identify with each thing written there. Almost five months into motherhood, I still don’t feel like a mommy. Although I am not quite sure what that is supposed to feel like.
For example, I am just glad Shyama is ridiculously cute. I am thankful, grateful and deeply overwhelmed that she’s a happy child and smiles all the time. I am disgustingly happy that she has no teeth and even while I know I shouldn’t even dream of wanting it, I like her best without the teeth and wish she remains this way.
But most of all I am just glad that I was blessed with this experience. For, I am the kind of person who mourns the lack of experience. Life has always been one large blue inviting infinity pool for me. And every new thing I get to know about I have this deep temptation to experience. As juvenile as it sounds, cocaine and crushing accidents included. Just to know what it feels like. And having been blessed with sunshine for a daughter has made this experience completely worth the thirsting for it.
While I love her immeasurably — I loved her before she was even thought of I think — I don’t feel the kind of pride a lot of women I know feel. This whole ‘my flesh and blood’ situation doesn’t seem to be there within me at all. For about a week after she was born I kept referring to myself as her sister when I baby talked to her. “My daughter” — that still hasn’t happened for me. She’s just a ridiculously good thing that has happened in my charmed life.
I wonder how that’s going to affect her.