A Letter to my First Born – Mommy Blogger

08/27/2018

Kelsey Connell is the co-founder and Vice President of the Family Fertility Fund of Saskatchewan. When she’s not fundraising, you’ll find her writing on her personal blog, What We Don’t Do and spending time with her daughter while awaiting the arrival of their rainbow baby this fall.

To my first born Claire,

I walked into the bedroom the other morning and you and your dad were snuggled in deep amongst the blankets, peacefully sleeping. I thought my heart would burst. The love I have for you is unlike any love I’ve ever felt. As you grew in my belly, my love for you grew with every kick and flutter. When you emerged Earthside, a piece of my heart emerged with you; it’s downright scary being this vulnerable as a mother. Now you’re your own person and my heart doesn’t stand a chance against the heartache that is sure to come over the years.

As I stood there seemingly frozen in the moment of watching you Fear crept in: How can I love another child as much as I love you? And your dad? Do I have it in me to love another child with the same depth and reverence? Will I play favourites? Do I have enough time and energy and patience for two kids?

You, my darling, came into my life as the biggest surprise and challenge. I remember crying outside the restaurant in the freezing cold waiting for your dad to pick me up. I called your Omi, sure she would tell me I wasn’t fit to be a parent and that the timing wasn’t right. I was still in university, your dad was unhappy with his work and wanted a change and we lived in a tiny apartment. We weren’t ready for you. Or so we thought.

Nine months later you came blazing into the world, bum down and wailing like a banshee. It was the sweetest and scariest sound I had ever heard. These last five years as a trio family have been magical and challenging and wonderful and difficult. Nothing can prepare you for motherhood. It defies all logic and reason. A mother’s love is primitive and archaic; that love is built into our DNA, into our cells. When we hear our baby cry, we instinctively know you; our brains are actually rewired during those nine months of pregnancy to prepare us for this. We bond on a level that is both divine and biological.

I’ve documented every first: your first laugh, crawl, steps and haircut. I’ve come into your room every night after you’ve fallen asleep to watch you with awe and to caress your little body. I’ve shared my loves with you in hopes you too will love the same things. I’ve also yelled at you and admittedly, spent way too much time on my phone in front of you. I’ve sent you to the corner, taken away privileges and tried to teach you how to be a good person no matter what comes your way.

My biggest desire after you were born was to give you a sibling. I wanted you to experience the blessing that is siblinghood, in all its frustrations and glory. My desire became borderline obsession as we tried to build our family. But, the Universe or God or some other force I can’t fathom had a different timeline for us and it’s only now, four years and four miscarriages later that I can write this letter with confidence that we are finally giving you a sibling. A little brother, in fact, to your horror.

I fought the medical system for him. I fought my own internal battles to have him. I fought back against a society that shames infertility and pregnancy loss. I fought for my own personal wellness and peace. I fought so he could proudly pick us as his family.

So when Fear crept in that morning a few days ago, I had to remind myself of how far we had all come since those early days of your infancy. I had to remember my strengths and my perseverance. And of my ability to adapt to anything. And of my beautiful capacity to love. I fought for your little brother so that we can expand that love in our home to our children; to give you the adventures that come with sharing and arguing and loving unconditionally. We fought to grow our family so we may love deeper and raise children that will help change the world for the better.

So with that personal pep talk, I suddenly intuitively knew I could love you both. I knew Fear didn’t have a place in my heart when it’s about to become so filled with another love, albeit probably a different kind of love. My heart has room for you both. Your heart has room for him too, even if you do think you’re allergic to boys right now. I have no doubt you will love him fiercely.

Our family is finally coming to fruition. On the hard days, I’ll channel the inner strengths and perseverance I developed through the hard times of our fertility battle so they can carry me through the tough times of motherhood. I’ll continue working at being a better person to be a better mom to be a better role model for you both.

You’ll always be my first love. That alone gives us a beautiful bond and connection. I’ll still love you deeply once your brother is here too. I have enough love for you both. One day you’ll learn that in hard times you’ll be faced with scenarios and situations that will force you to become bigger and better than you were before. You will tap into parts of yourself you didn’t know existed- some good, some bad- and you’ll be forever changed. You will be given the opportunity to flourish into a different version of yourself.

My hard times to get your brother to us has given me the changes I needed to love harder, to appreciate each moment in the moment and to hopefully help cure you of your boy allergy.

Love,

Mama