whelm

I've always read and heard that when you become a parent for the first time, you suddenly get this sense of the awesome responsibility that faces you: this tiny person, totally helpless, a life, a soul, totally dependent on you, and you've got to come through.

So, here I am, and I've got to say I don't feel it. It's wonderful, amazing, a miracle, but I just don't feel overwhelmed. I don't feel that "oh my goodness what have I gotten myself into" feeling that so many people have described. Or even the more anodyne version of that feeling. Last night Catherine said, "Don't you just look over sometimes and think, 'I can't believe I really have a baby; I can't believe it's real!'?" I said, "...no..."

What I do feel is an amazing abundance of joy and love. It's not more than I ever expected; it's exactly what I expected. It's not more than I knew was possible; it's exactly what I've been wanting a long time. The piling up of that abundance, that heap, is exactly what our ancestors called a whelm. That's what I feel: a whelm.

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