motherhood, the first week

Wow. What a ridiculously amazing, terrifying, exhausting, exhilarating week this has been. People tell you it will change everything, but I had no idea. No idea.

What startles me most, perhaps, about this motherhood experience is how biologically driven it is. When Imogen was born, I thought she looked like Will. I didn't see myself at all. My sister kept pointing our things that were like me, but I didn't see it. Then, a day later, I was looking in the mirror and suddenly I looked like her. I didn't look like myself at all. I had the same experience with Will. He no longer looked like himself, but like Imogen. It was as if the only face I could see was hers. My own face is back, but this little girl's face and its connection to both me and Will is firmly imprinted in my mind. (And then there are those other bits of biology: the ridiculous emotions, the breasts that immediately respond to her cries and stirrings).

I am also amazed by how much of an individual she already is. My first impression of her was a lucky one, I think. As soon as she was born, she was whisked away by a pediatrician who wanted to check her out for any ill effects caused by a fever I had during labor. I didn't get to hold her right away, but could only stare at her from across the room. She was a crier, bursting out into a wail the moment she exited my body. I watched her from my bed, this beautiful, flailing creature and my first thought was, Here is this woman, Imogen, already herself. My job is just to help her on her journey. I am glad to have had this experience because I know that for as much as she is mine, she is not mine.

She is a lovely girl, sweet and mellow. For all the ferocity of her first cry, she hardly cries now. Perhaps that is because we dote on her and respond quickly to any sound she makes. But I suspect it's also because she's a happy one. I am lucky and tired and overwhelmed. But mostly lucky.