Falling in Love With Motherhood

We’ve been home from for more than seven months now with our little son, and I am finally becoming a mother. From the first moment that I saw Ivan, so tiny and helpless in stiff blue jeans and an oversized flannel shirt, my heart felt like it would break from loving him so much. The feeling was like laughing, crying, running, singing, shouting and gasping for air—all at once. But, even with the power of that moment, I still didn’t enter gracefully into the land of motherhood. I felt at once overjoyed and completely lost. 

Yet, as time goes on all those little things that seem to add up to being a mother are happening to me. And every day I fall more and more in love with this tiny little boy, and more in love with being his mama.

I have danced in a dark closet in a hotel room, 3,000 miles from home, holding my brand-new son in my arms, singing old church hymns to calm him. His favorite is Amazing Grace. His daddy even sang to him. For days, we sang and danced and rocked until he knew us by heart.

 I have stayed up for 48 hours straight with my son while he fought a scary case of pneumonia. I was afraid if I shut my eyes that he might not wake up, so I just lay on the floor with his little body in the middle of my chest. I counted every breath.

I have sat in a sterile hospital room and watched his crying face disappear down the hallway in the arms of a stranger. I wore the floor out in the waiting room, crying softly, imagining the worst, until they came out to tell me that he was recovering from his operation. I held him until he woke up. The only thing that relaxed him was the sound of my voice.

I have done silly, stupid things just to make him laugh. I sing songs at the top of my lungs while we drive in the car so I can see him smile in the rearview mirror. I crawl around on my hands and knees while he rides on my back. I hold him upside down by his feet until we can hardly breathe from laughing so hard. I bounce him on a big pile of pillows that we keep just for that purpose. I kiss him over and over while we roll the grocery cart through the store, because he likes it, and I can’t help it.

I have seen my beloved dogs connect with their baby brother in a way I could only have imagined. They have steered him from the danger of our ponds, they have snuggled up to him when he is sick, they have stood guard at the door of his room, they have let him ride them, pull their ears and kiss their noses incessantly. Ivan’s first words were their names, Spot (“Bot”) and Ida (“Da”).

I have stared at his face for hours, watching every expression as I try to imagine him as a grown man. I have dreamed of a spectacular and extraordinary life for him, yet my true wishes for him are simple: happiness and health. I know that no matter what path he chooses, I will do anything it takes to help him achieve his dreams.

I have seen my big, strong husband cry just looking at our son, unable to believe that he could love someone so much, so completely. He proudly takes him everywhere with him. They ride through our pastures together, they take baths, go swimming, read books and hang out with “the boys.” I have watched him rush home from work, only wanting to spend more time with his Ivan. I have seen our love of many years grow even stronger in the light of this tiny boy.

I have realized that somehow in this great, big, wide world, we have found our child. And discovering him has made me into someone different. A mother. And I will never, ever be the same again.

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Marie Andre Melsheimer, a public relations executive, and John E. Melsheimer, a contractor and offroad racer, make their home on a 14-acre ranch in Bend, Oregon . They officially adopted their son, Ivan Carl Melsheimer (born October 7, 2003), on July 1, 2004 in Vladivostok, .  When this story was written, he was not yet two. Now, at five, mothering is old hat for Marie. And every day she still falls more in love with the best job in the world: being Ivan’s mama.