Falling In Love, Of A Motherly Sort

I don't think it happens all at once.  I don't think your first glimpse of your baby is the one that makes you think that child, your child, is the absolute loveliest and best in existence.  For me it happened in increments, and maybe that is in part due to the way in which I became a mother.  Or maybe not.  Maybe love is different for each and every person out there, maybe mine comes more slowly, in bits and pieces that fit together like a puzzle which, when complete, makes me love fiercely, without a doubt, and sometimes beyond reason.  In an effort to be truthful and in an effort to be able to remember this someday, here is how I think it went for me. 
First there was the idea of a child.  I loved the thought of walks in the park, showing my child to the world and the world to my child, beautiful Hallmark moments that left me longing for a baby.  The second time around it was stronger than the first, because I knew how lovely and special parenthood could be.  Having Harrison assured me that parenting, while considered one of the hardest and most important jobs in the world, is also the most rewarding, fulfilling, and uniquely wonderful.  I knew I had enough room in my heart and in my life for a child; I knew our family would not feel complete to me until Harrison had a sibling.  And let's face it, I knew how to make a bottle and change a diaper, so there was less fear involved in my Hallmark dreams this time.
Then we got her picture.  How I loved that picture!  Every time I looked at it my heart swelled.  I studied every inch of it, knew every little thing about her that could be gleaned from a photograph (which isn't much, sadly).  I read her referral paperwork at least once a week, wanting to ingrain her habits and history on my memory, wanting to KNOW her, without ever having met her.  I loved every little detail:  the way she slept, the way she ate, and her personality, at least as it was reported on paper. 
Then we got an update, and pictures of an adorable little baby, no longer an infant, with cheeks that made me want to reach through the photograph to the other side of the world.  Those pictures sealed the deal for my heart.  This girl, this beautiful, would be my daughter.  Did I love her?  Yes and no.  I loved, once again, the idea of her, and what I knew about her held the promise and potential of great love.  But I don't think I loved her, the Emma who is very real and here, until I met her.
When she entered the meeting room at Eastern in her foster mother's arms, it took my breath away.  Love at first sight?  While I had seen her face in pictures, nothing quite prepared me for that first meeting.  She stared at me; I was finally able to reach out and feel the softness of her cheek.  The other people in the room seemed to fade away and there was only my daughter.  Love at first sight exists, but it, too, is superficial.  I loved the way her hair stood on end when her foster mom plucked off her hat, and the way she ducked her head and smiled when she thought something was funny.  I loved the smell of her, that universal good smell that seems to radiate from babies.  I loved, most of all, knowing that she was real, knowing that our dreams were being fulfilled, and knowing that in two days this brilliantly beautiful little person was going to board a plane with me and travel to the other side of the world to be my daughter.
It wasn't until the plane ride home that I began to really love the actual Emma.   That plane ride, oh, it was a doozy.  It was bad.  But in some ways the very things that made it bad forced me to love, honor, and protect my Emma much faster than I might have.  I held our girl in my arms for close to 24 hours straight (the first 17 hours because the very nasty American man sitting next to me refused to allow us to use the bassinet, and the airline sided with him...but that's a topic for another day).  When she screamed because she realized her Omma was gone, I held her and cried with her.  When the very nasty man was very nasty I held on to my baby and swore this would be the very last time someone wronged her (tell me that's not foolish Mother's love talking!) I learned how to soothe her, I learned how to make her laugh, I learned how she likes to be held while feeding.  And in learning those things by trial and error, the amazing little girl who lies fast asleep in her room right now won my heart by bits and pieces, and each day that she is home the puzzle becomes more complete.  In the same way that my first glimpse of her (and of Harrison almost two years ago) took my breath away, now my love for them takes my breath away.  And makes my eyes water.  And makes me realize what a responsibility and an honor it is to be one of their parents.