Everyone dies say how hard it is, but I always thought it was hard because of the work involved, how dependent they are etc etc.
I never realised how shocked I’d be by my own emotions though. Suddenly the world was this terrifying, terrible place full of dangers and darkness and I had this unbelievably, unbearably precious being to protect from all of it.
I had to stop listening to the news. I couldn’t bear to hear of unhappiness because that was someone else’s child being caught up in that war/terrorist incident/famine.
I read an article which described the love of a parent for their new baby as a “whisper away from grief” and I think that captures it so well.
That was what floored me. The overwhelming, consuming love and sorrow all wrapped up together.
And then of course the absolutely knackering relentlessness of feeding, waking, settling, and being constantly, instantly interruptible to jump to their side from whatever I was briefly trying to do (eat/per/shower/stick a wash on etc etc).
Yeah, you can’t be told. You just couldn’t possibly get it before hand.