One Mom's First Love

As part of the Group Blogging Experience (GBE 2), each member is supposed to write a blog about whatever topic is given for the week. This week's topic is FIRST LOVE.

I could have written about romantic first love (like my crush on John when I was in the fifth grade), or my first love that involved one of the STILL most memorable kisses I've ever received (thank you, Jim), but I'm choosing instead to write about the first time I felt the kind of nurturing love that comes from being a mother.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant (believe it or not, the second it happened, I KNEW I was pregnant, but I didn't find out for sure until three months later), I fell in love with the baby growing inside me.

The first time I felt movement, I was in my Senior English class (yes, I was still in high school), and I was so excited to feel her move inside me that I had to tell somebody. I chose to tell the girl who sat next to me. Though I didn't know it at the time, she too was pregnant.

At around 8 p.m. the night my daughter was born, my husband's mother drove my husband and me to the hospital. Because I was 6 days short of my 18th birthday, and because this was my first baby, the nurses assumed I would be there for several hours, so, after prepping me for delivery, they threw me into a room with my husband – and left, assuring him that we would both have a looooong wait.

Less than four hours later, my (ex – for the past 40 or so years) husband removed my deeply embedded fingernails from his arm and went in search of help for his bloody arm – just kidding – he was concerned that I might actually be delivering NOW!

Keeley was born at 11:57 p.m. weighing in at 6 lbs. 3 oz. I couldn't wait to see her, but when the nurse brought her toward my face, she said, "Aw, look. She has a cute little pug nose, just like her mother." Because of the drugs they administered to me, all I saw was her nose. The focus on her nose created a kind of cloud-like apparition that blurred everything else on her face.

The next day when they brought her to me, I didn't recognize her, because even her nose, surrounded by the rest of her face, looked different when it was actually connected to a face. So, for the first time, I got to see the rest of her – a dark-skinned baby girl with black, curly hair.

Though I would have loved this baby as much as I would have loved my own, I objected to the hospital staff bringing me the wrong baby; mine, after all, was white. They assured me that this baby was my baby and that she WAS white.

When they brought me the birth certificate, I pointed out to them that they had written the wrong date. They assured me that the date was the only thing about which they were sure. The clock in the hospital delivery room had read 12:57. Surely they were wrong about the date. According to the nurse, hospitals don't change clocks to accommodate daylight savings time (wonder if this affects astrological data).

Despite my confusion about this tiny infant's heritage and date of birth, the moment I held her in my arms, I felt the deepest, most loving, and protective rush of love, that I thought my heart, already swollen with wonder and joy, would explode in an effort to allow her entry. I couldn't hold her close enough, and I couldn't bear to be too far away from her.

When the black curls grew out, blond hair sprouted underneath, which was also surprising since my hair color was off-black and I assumed my dark hair genes would override her father's light hair genes. Still, she was a little beauty, and I marveled at her first smile, her first step, her first word, her first everything.

I didn't have much money – I spent every last penny I had paying the doctor and hospital bill, so we didn't have many things, and when she was three years old, after having been read the same books over and over again, Keeley learned how to memorize them. People who met her for the first time thought she was a genius; she turned the pages at exactly the right moment.

Her little spirit was a joy to be around, because she was extremely inquisitive and very funny. If blogging had been around back then, she would have given her mommy so much material, I'd have never been at a loss for what to write. Her father and I divorced when she was still an infant. Keeley and I became very close, and for 11 years, Keeley was my only child. She was also a source of delight and inspiration. How could I ever love anybody as much as I loved her?

My mother once told me that before my sisters were born, she wondered how she could ever love a baby as much as she loved her firstborn (me). And then she had two more children. My mom discovered what I and other mothers discover when they have their second child – your heart grows with the birth of each child and you find you have as much love for your second and third (etc.) child as you did for your first.

My oldest baby, my first love as a mom, will celebrate her 42nd birthday in less than a month.  She is still bright and funny and a source of delight and inspiration (as are her brother and sisters and all my grandchildren and great grandchildren).

I think that what amazes me more than anything is that from the moment you experience your first love, you realize that your heart is capable of accommodating all of the loves in your life. You can love someone with all your heart and then discover that you can love others with all your heart as well. Your first love will always hold a special place in your heart, but she will have opened your heart to make room for more loves.

(I would have liked to have posted a photo of Keeley when she was a little girl, but Blogger wouldn't allow it today for some reason.)



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