I am heartbroken.
I am head over heels in love with my baby and I am thoroughly heartbroken.
Each time I call myself Mom when I speak to my daughter, my heart breaks for the “real” Mom, mine, the one who earned the title by right, and not by (giving) birth.
Every time I say Mommy to my daughter, the image of my own mother flashes in front of me. At least it her real image now, and not the dying one that I couldn’t get out of my head for so long.
And my my heart breaks because I can’t believe I have been a mother for 9 months, this whole time without her.
9 months that the word Mom switched meaning from her to me – but it really didn’t.
9 months that have already introduced crawling, teething, and even walking.
9 months of milestones that I can’t share with her, and can’t compare to my own milestones because I don’t know what they are.
9 months of questions that remain unanswered.
9 months of wondering if she would be proud of me – or if she’s slap me upside the head (so to speak) for something I was doing wrong.
9 months of falling deeper in love with the most amazing creature in the universe – the one who has the same exact smile and serious expression as my mom.
9 months of well-meaning friends and coworkers commenting, “Every time I think about you, I can’t believe that you are doing it without your mother.”
9 months of pretending that I appreciate the sentiment, but secretly feeling my heart fall apart.
9 months of so much love – and an equal amount of absence.
9 months of complete and utter bliss, coupled with relief, because I now know I really can do it without her.