I didn’t bond with my baby right away—and that’s OK

Do you believe in love at first sight? There was a time when I might have said yes to that question. Love at first sight is easy and effortless. It strikes you like a lightning bolt, sudden and electrifying. It’s a force that overcomes you, something beyond your control: an emotion that renders you powerless. 

But love at first sight is, ultimately, a lie.

I don’t believe in love at first sight, a fact that became more evident to me when I gave birth to my daughter.

When people talk of birth, they often say things like, “when the nurse places that baby on your chest for the first time, it’s unlike any love you’ve ever known before.” Love at first sight, at first touch. Like many expectant mothers, I longed for that moment. In my final weeks of pregnancy, I imagined it over and over. I couldn’t wait to meet my baby, to experience that indescribable love.

After 38 hours of labor, my daughter finally made her dramatic entrance into the world via a vacuum-assisted delivery (during which my epidural ran out) followed by shoulder dystocia on both sides. She came out blue and not breathing, but I was too exhausted, shocked and in pain to care. The doctor was already stitching up my third-degree tear when I finally heard her cry. I was relieved, but had absolutely no desire to see her. I couldn’t bear the thought of having an infant crying in my ear, especially not one that had just ravaged my body.

But alas, the nurses laid her on me for a minute, right before they whisked her off to the nursery. My first thought upon seeing her was, are you sure that’s my baby? Swollen and pale, she looked nothing like I thought she would. My second thought was, please get her away from me. I was so distraught and in such agony that all I wanted to do was curl into the fetal position, cry and be left alone. Photos were taken but when they took her away, the immediate reprieve I felt was followed by guilt. Where was the love-at-first-sight feeling? What does this lack of affection say about me as a mother?

I worried that our birth experience would inhibit our bonding. And my worries were not unfounded—I never experienced that overwhelmed-with-love feeling. When the nurses brought her back to my room a few hours later or even when I began breastfeeding, my primary emotions were estrangement and bewilderment and disbelief.

Things got worse when I brought her home. Not only was I uncomfortable, bleeding and restricted to a soft-food diet, but I also had this new tiny human who was completely dependent on me for everything. I felt numb—empty. And bamboozled by the fact that my experience of motherhood was nothing like the experience promised to me by family, friends and the media.

I love my daughter. I show up for her day after day even when it takes everything out of me.

So, no. I don’t believe in love at first sight, because I’ve lived long enough to understand that love is not a feeling. It’s not something that happens to us, like a crashing wave or a rush of desire.

Rather, love—real, true love—is a choice. A conscious decision that we must make over and over again for the rest of our lives.

Maybe this takes out some of the glamor, some of the mystery or the intrigue when it comes to love. After all, making a decision is an ordinary occurrence. It’s not flashy or particularly interesting. Which is why people mistake love for the shiny object; the thing that distracts and lures us away from the slog of real life.

But love is not a shiny object. Love is the decision to remain on-course, to not be enticed by the illusion of something better “over there.” It’s the act of showing up and putting one foot in front of the other, even when it feels impossible. It’s choosing to remain present for the people that we love even when all we want to do is escape.

I love my daughter. I show up for her day after day even when it takes everything out of me. Even when she makes my nipples bleed from nursing. Even when she screams at me with a beet-red face and crocodile tears that make me cry tears of my own. I continue to meet her needs even when it means neglecting some of my own. I show up for her because I choose to love her.

Magic happens when we want to love someone, and we put in the work. We tend to this little bud of a relationship with patience and persistence. And eventually, love blooms.

Editor’s note: Bonding with your newborn can be a gradual process. If you don’t feel immediately connected, here are helpful resources and tips from The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.