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I Don’t Love My Son More, but I Do Love Him Differently Than My Girls

I left the gym this morning feeling refreshed and completely care-free. It was the first time in over two months that I actually spent a continuous hour working out. No interruptions. Prior to today, the nursery would come and get me every 15 minutes because there was an issue with Macks. He was crying, hungry, had a dirty diaper, etc. As soon as I’d rush in to the room to get him, he would immediately calm down as if nothing was wrong, further proving that he is definitely a mama’s boy.

When I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, I had so many people tell me that the love I would experience when I welcomed her into the world would be like no other — and they were right.

The second that I laid eyes on her, it was as if my heart immediately filled with this immense love that I had never felt before. It was that unconditional, I’ll-do-anything-in-the-world-for-you kind of love. I felt the same thing when my youngest daughter was born.

And then Macks was born. That immense love was there as soon as I saw him, but something felt different. There was this immediate bond and connection — something that didn’t feel as powerful with the girls. I held him in my arms, looked into teeny grey eyes, and my heart felt like it was going to explode. He was mine. My boy. Forever.

When I found out I was pregnant with Macks it was a complete surprise. My husband and I weren’t trying to get pregnant and we weren’t even sure that we wanted another child. At the time, we lived in a small, two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. My youngest daughter had just turned one and I was finally starting to get into a routine of having two kids around. The positive pregnancy test threw me for a loop.

It took a while for everything to set in, but the first time that I saw that little tiny blob on the ultrasound screen everything changed. It made everything so real. In just nine months, I was going to meet my third child.

We knew we wanted to find out the sex. I am so impatient and wanted to plan everything before the baby got here. Already having two girls, deep down inside I wanted a boy. Of course I wouldn’t admit that until now and would be completely content with another girl, but I really wanted the experience of being a mom to a little boy.

The day of our gender reveal ultrasound, my stomach was in knots. I was so anxious to know who this little being was that I was carrying inside of me. As soon as the technician revealed that it was a boy I started to break down in tears. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I made her check a couple more times before finally coming to terms that I would soon be welcoming my son.

Now, nearly seven months into our relationship, Macks is my righthand man. He’s by far my most challenging child. He always wants to be held, won’t sleep through the night, and only finds comfort when he is in my arms. With three kids, it’s tough. But it’s when I’m holding him and he digs his face into my chest to show me that he loves me. Or when I’m nursing him and he grabs my finger to show me that he’s close. It’s that smile he gives me first thing in the morning when he wakes up next to me. Those are the things that make everything okay.

I was warned before having him that boys love their mamas — and I thank my friends for the fair warning. But what no one warned me about what the deep, burning, connection that I’d feel with my son. A connection that only him and I will ever understand. The connection that is only known between a mama and her boy.

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