Love

Shepherd turned three months old yesterday. That has given me three months to get used to motherhood. In some ways, I have adjusted very well. I am used to getting up once or twice a night, changing diapers every 30 minutes to an hour, and doing housework in spurts that just so happen to coincide with Shepherd's naps.

What I can't seem to get used to is just how intensely I feel when it comes to Shepherd. The amount of love I feel when I look at him causes an achy feeling when I inhale. The smallest expression from him (a grin, a furrowed brow, a pout) instantly captivates my attention and blurs my surroundings. In all honesty, all of this intensity is flat out frightening.

I've been trying to figure out why I feel this much this strongly about one person. It isn't a quantitative issue; I don't love Shepherd more than BJ. I've come to decide that it is more an issue of vulnerability. All loving relationships leave a person at least somewhat vulnerable. With BJ, I consciously subjected myself to the vulnerability. When I told him I loved him for the first time in an ACU parking lot, I knew that I was opening myself to the possibility of rejection, but I felt that the shot at love was worth the risk of heartbreak. Each time we took our relationship to a deeper level, I knew that I was simultaneously increasing how badly I would hurt if our relationship ended. With Shepherd, there was not an incremental process of becoming more and more vulnerable. He was just born, and suddenly I knew that anytime he hurts or suffers or struggles, I will feel all of that pain, perhaps worse than he will. And this realization was and has continued to be terrifying.

This past week, an aunt of my best friend lost her 22 year old son in a car accident. When I think about this mother, I can barely breath. I pray for her and the unimaginable pain she must be experiencing, and like all mothers when they hear news of this sort, I attach a prayer for my own son's safety and health. But despite all the fear that I'm finding is part of motherhood, the bare-naked vulnerability of this office, I am absolutely certain it is worth the risk. If Shepherd learns nothing else from me in these next 18 years as I raise him, I hope he learns this: he is worth being loved, and love is no small thing.