When I was pregnant with my second son, I had no idea how much I would love him. It didn’t seem possible that I could love him like I did my first. As I awaited his arrival (on bedrest), my expectations for him grew but my projected love and feelings remained very measured. I imagined having a blueprint for love, a near duplicate map of that with my first son. I was imagining a replica; I had no other schema for having a baby of my own. In this space, I expected it would all feel very familiar in my heart. And although this hope and anticipation fueled my pregnancy, I remember housing doubt that I would have the capacity to love another like I loved my first son. In some moments, it didn’t seem possible; the love already felt immense and unconstrained. As any parent knows, it’s simply insurmountable to quantify or govern love for your child.
If anything, I think I expected my love to feel equal for each boy, despite not understanding the mechanics of how it would happen. Part of that came from my mother telling me that she loved my brother and me equally when we were growing up. This often came up at incredibly sentimental times (note: sarcasm) like epic battles in sharing or when choosing which one of us needed to take the garbage out.
Of course, I’m sure my mom’s feelings are more complex, but her assertion of equality was the foundation in my thinking.
Out popped O in November of 2008. And just like everyone said, I fell in love with him…Desperately.
But my love wasn’t simple; it wasn’t the same. My heart didn’t mimic any pattern I’d developed for F. O was an entirely unique person in my life. And I generated an entirely new sense of connection.
My love for my boys isn’t “equal” in height, weight, or circumference. The love I feel for O is absolutely incomparable to the love I feel for F. As if it’s a different color, a different language, a different texture, or a different tonality. The space they occupy in me is immense and limitless, separate, and only occasionally overlapping. I don’t love one more than the other, but I can’t articulate how I love them in unequal ways. But I do.
Does the love you feel for your child equal that for anything else?
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Barb says
Excellent post. I’ve always wondered how the love for 2 children goes. I have one son and often wonder how I could ever love another as much. Great job describing it. The love I feel for him doesn’t even come close to anything else. The love for my mother and husband are probably second, but the love for my son is much more unconditional and all encompassing.
Becky (Nelson) Hunter says
Thanks for this post. 🙂 I too wrestled how I could love the anticipated #2 and then 3. What a gift it is FOR US and them to love them for who they are and not for who they are in relation to a sibling.
You may appreciate a children’s picture book: I Love You the Purplest by Barbara Joosse. If not just for your darling family, for the families you love well and strive to keep well.
Claire says
I read a ooey gooey “I love my kids book” recently – I Love You the Purplest by Barbara Joosse. She gets it and out it right out there for her boys.
Hope you had a good night!
Alicia says
I agree completely. My two children are so different that it feels like two completely different feelings and relationships with them, even though they both go by the name of “love.”
What your post reminded me of, though, is two days before my second was born I had a hysterical meltdown worrying that I wouldn’t be able to love my first as much after I had another. It didn’t turn out that way of course but I was coming at the issue from the other direction – worrying that the love for two would somehow make the love for one less. In retrospect, this was probably the beginning of labor – certainly have never felt that way since!
alison says
Thank you so much for this! I’ve got 3ish months left in this pregnancy with boy #2 and I’m just now starting to worry about this. I go from already loving this baby in my belly so much that I can’t fathom what it was like before he was there… to having visions of not loving him at his birth and only wanting to see my firstborn.
I will be honest and say when my oldest was born (he’s almost 2), they really could have brought me any baby from the nursery and I wouldn’t have known the difference. He was precious and he was mine, and I immediately felt responsible for him… in the same way I feel responsible for my nephews. It took a good 24 hours before the head over heels love worked its magic. And now I love him so much it makes my heart hurt to think about. It’s deep and indescribable.
At the end of the day, I know in my head I will love his brother as deeply, and I’m starting to wrap my mind around the fact that it will be different. I’m just curious how this is all going to be worked out in my heart. We shall see!
Melissa (Confessions of a Dr.Mom) says
You articulated it very well. It really is so different but in no way less. I love how you describe it…”different language, different tonality, different texture…”
SO very true.
Katie says
This is such a sensitive, not-often-talked-about topic. When I was pregnant with Emma, I was so worried that I wouldn’t love her the same/as much. Everyone would assure me that “of course” I would. I still doubted it. How could I love another baby as much as I loved the one that I already had.
Then when Emma was born and placed in my arms, I was so relieved to feel that rush of love. I remember in my post-c-section-morphine delirium, gushing to everyone from the nurses to my husband, “Oh, I love her so much!” And they would pat my arm and say, “Of course you do.”
But then we brought her home and I found myself feeling quiet feelings of mommy guilt because I didn’t love her the “same” way as I loved Will. And at first, it just didn’t feel “as much.” I still felt guilty for those feelings, because I kept confusing the “different” ways that I felt my love for them and thinking that it meant something was wrong with me.
One of my friends explained it best to me, “You love Emma because she is your baby and it is biological. You love Will for the same reason, but ALSO because he is his own person and has unique traits and qualities that make him loveable.” I had a two year relationship with Will and just didn’t know Emma quite as well.
That explanation made sense to me and I was able to let go of the guilt. And, fast forward to today, six plus months later, and my love for Emma, while still so different, is just as much as it is for her brother. That swelling of love and maternal pride has grown over time, because she is her own person, with her own unique traits and qualities.
I think it’s good to talk about this, though, because I think we always feel the need to love our children “equally” and “the same” and feel great guilt when we don’t. We feel as if we are alone in our feelings, when I think they are very natural. Everyone that I know who is brave enough to talk about it has felt the exact same way.
paulette denman says
loved reading this post. i am due in early may with my 2nd boy. i am so very curious to see what he will be like, and learn how i could possibly love him as much as my first. my son (3 in apriil) and i are very much in sync in the temperament department. part of me thinks this next lil guy will give me all new challenges, but i can’t wait to find out what they’ll be (i’m a little nervous tho!). i have no strong examples of brothers in my life – that will be truly a spectacle for me to learn about.
i guess my biggest worry has been how my first born will do with a little less of me. he’s had mommy 24/7 almost every day of his life. i keep thinking of that time as a great transition for us all, and that soon enough it will feel like it was always supposed to be. “the new normal” i hope 🙂 i do wake every morning, grateful for a full nights sleep!
Kelly says
This is a beautiful post. Thank you for writing it. I am not a mother, and I anticipate that I won’t be for a while. But it got me thinking. I am in my mid-20s and have been asked when my husband and I will have kids. And honestly, until I read this, I wasn’t sure I wanted kids. I think about the physical pain of labor, the cost of raising kids, the hard work it takes, and it starts to feel like too much. But reading your post makes me realize that maybe I’m just not ready to be a parent at the moment, but when I am ready, that all of those other things won’t matter at all.
Rebecca says
expecting my second son in April – thank you for putting everything I was feeling down on paper so eloquently.
mir says
It took a while to fall in love with my first. At the beginning, she was a tiny thing I had to take care of. After a few months, I was in love with the cuddling and the caring and every precious thing she did that seemed like no infant before had done.
I wonder how there could be room in my heart for another baby like that.
Sounds like yes, although it seems now that there could be no other.
DrV says
Interesting that I don’t count too many dads among the comments. I asked myself the same question awaiting the arrival of my daughter (second child). The gender issue seemed to magnify all that you mentioned. As one of three boys I never witnessed a father-daughter relationship. As I’ve learned it’s so unique and special..
Simple but provocative post, Wendy.
Lulu says
I feel that no matter what will happen I will never love my daughter the way I love my son.
He is my first born and my long waited one (tried for him for 3 years). He is a split copy of me in his face, body and character. We have the same interests (even he is 3,5) and same temper – reserved, not a man (woman) or so many words, but affectionate.
My daughter who is 2,5 is very lively, quick, troublemaker and picks on him all the time. None of these qualities are attractive to me and she is not even trying to be loveable. I know she is only two. Even physically she is nothing like me and she doesn’t seem to like me a bit.
Belive me – I do try. I stroke her hair, and try to play doll house. I sing her a song and caress her belly. She only says: “mom – don’t touch me.” I hope it will change and as a responsible adult I will do anything for her, but my deep deep love will never be even close to what I have with my son. He is my life and she is my gift to him – a sibling.
I know women who were honest enough to share that they do not love their (grown) children equally. It does happen. I am not going to beat myself over this, however it is very sad for me. I wish I loved her to pieces.
hou2009 says
Lulu, I don’t know when you posted this, but I read your comments and felt so sad. I hope things have improved with your daughter. Kids are so receptive to things that we don’t even see. Does she sense the closeness between you and your son and be acting our her jealousy? Does she long for tenderness between you but not know how to get there? Is she picking on her brother or acting out because wants the attention from you, even if it’s negative? My daughter is 1.5, and I can relate to the feelings of distance you describe. Part of it’s just toddler-itis, but it’s a little more than that, so I’ve made small steps – and repeat them. For example, I start every day with morning hugs and kisses (even though she doesn’t reciprocate). I “read” her baby photo album to her and talk about how much she’s loved. When she answers “no” to something or pushes me away, I turn it into tickle time. I show her photos of herself on my phone and talk about how I look at them all day because I miss her when I’m at work. We play chase or peek-a-boo with lots of obnoxious kisses. Slowly, I’m seeing subtle changes. About a month ago, my husband woke her up, and her first request was “Mama” – not her books, not her toys. And when she found me, and I gave her her morning hugs and kisses, she wrapped her arms around me and rested her head in the crook of my neck. It only lasted about three magical seconds, but I knew I was on the right track. Best wishes to you and your daughter as you find your way.