I Know How to Love You

I still remember the cab ride to the hospital, from Brooklyn to Upper West Side. Stuck in Battery Tunnel, the thing I was most afraid of as I was trying to breathe through contractions wasnt that I you would be born in the back seat of that town car, or that something would go wrong, or that we would be stuck in that tunnel under the East River forever. I was worried about not immediately falling in love with you. The fear hit me for the first time in that moment, when I was in full-on labor, just a few hours from welcoming you, our firstborn, into this world. You are a total stranger to us, I thought - how am I supposed to know how to love you? How am I supposed to know what to do with you? How am I supposed to know how to take care of you, to keep you safe and happy, to understand what you want and like? How was I supposed to love someone I didnt know, someone who did not know me? I remember feeling like I was choking from the fear, because it made me feel like such an inadequate mother before you had even had a chance to be born. I felt like I was already failing you in the most basic, most simple thing I was expected to do as your mother: loving you.

A few hours later you were in my arms. Your skin was wrinkly and moist. Your fingers were so tiny, like bones of a bird. Your head was covered in black hair - like mine was when I was born - and your eyes, which I only caught a glimpse of, were as dark as your fathers. The sounds you made - tiny yet powerful squeaks and cries - made something move inside me I didnt know existed. They hit a frequency that pulled my most primordial, most untouched emotions and instincts. Those that immediately told every single cell in my body that from this moment onwards, my first and most important task in life would be to value this life in my hands above all else, to keep it safe, to love it with everything I had.

As I ran my fingers down your cheek I realized how utterly wrong I had been. We were not strangers. We knew you, and you knew us - better than we had ever known anyone in our lives. We recognized your yes, the curve of your chin, the roundness of your cheeks, the smell of your skin. I pressed you against my body and whispered into your ear: I know who you are - I know how to love you. I might not know much more right now - but I know how to love you.

And I did. That love changes every day - it grows, evolves, changes shape - but its always there. And while I might get many other things wrong and have made plenty of mistakes as a mother, I know how to love you. There will be days when I forget to pack your lunch, and when I dont have the energy to play with you as much as I should. Days when you feel bad and I cant help you no matter how hard I try. Days when I dont have the energy to cook nutritious meals for you. Days when Im the mom who forgot to buy someones birthday present, or forgot to sign that permission slip for a school trip. There will be days when you feel like I am the worst mom in the world - and days when I feel like I am that too. And there will be a day when you look into my eyes and tell me, with great conviction: Mama, I hate you!. But even on that day, I will still know how to love you.

There are plenty of moments when I dont like the things you do or say, or the way you behave. There will be times when I dont like the choices you make or the paths you choose - but there will never be a day when I do not love you.

Motherhood did not make me into a better person. It did not turn me into a superhero, or make me better than anyone else. But the love I have for my children has changed me forever. And on this Mothers Day, I will allow myself to celebrate that love and recognize the immense strength and power it holds. For me, and for you, and for your baby sister who is joining us soon, it is the one thing that will never change. The one thing that will always be constant, your safe harbor, your north star. I know how to love you - and I always will.