Archie.

This was a huge mistake.

That’s the first thing I thought when we brought Archie home. Because he wasn’t Archie yet. He was a swaddled blob of puffy cheeks and sleepy eyes. Or was it puffy eyes and sleepy cheeks? I’m too tired to remember.

He didn’t know who we were. We didn’t know who he was. I just knew we were stuck with him.

In the months before he was born, decorating the nursery had been a series of fun weekend projects, with us staring dreamily at the empty crib and imagining the baby who would occupy it. Now that he was home, it felt like an intrusion: Why have we allowed in this creature who will get in the way of all our fun weekend projects?

Above the changing table, I had put together a collage of photos of Alan and me and our families. It has pictures of us from a bunch of our trips: our honeymoon in Hawaii, vacations to Vegas, an anniversary weekend in New York. It was meant to introduce Archie to his parents, and to all of the people who love him. Now, in a room littered with hospital diapers, Enfamil bottles and pump parts, it taunted me with the memories of the carefree life we’d never have again.

EVER.

I had pictured motherhood as the moment Dorothy opens the door to Oz, the point at which my life would go from black-and-white to Technicolor. Instead, I found myself in a body I didn’t recognize, looking at a baby I didn’t have a clue how to care for, feeling completely and utterly lost. I had known we weren’t going to be in Kansas anymore, but this felt like we were still smack in the middle of the tornado–with no end in sight.

We had a whole night ahead and no plan on how to get through it. We decided to take turns in 3-hour shifts. Alan went to try and get some sleep while I sat in the chair in the nursery with Archie in my arms. I couldn’t stop crying. The emotional factors each were potent enough on their own–welcoming a new life, mourning the loss of my old one, becoming a mother, missing my own mom–and they were hitting me all at once.

I dozed off and woke up disoriented, wondering if it had all been a dream. Then I looked down and saw Archie’s smushed face just inches away, sound asleep on my chest. I started crying. Can I do this? I thought. Everyone had told me how it all goes so fast, and to cherish every moment. Someday I’ll look back and miss this night, I thought to myself. Then that made me cry.

Throughout the days and weeks that followed, I longed for my mom. I missed her on so many levels. I wanted her to experience the joy of being a grandmother. I wanted her to see me become a mother. I wanted her to say, “Here, give him to me” so I could go take a nap. And most of all, I wanted to tell her I finally understood what she went through, and to thank her–from a new perspective–for everything she did as my mom.

Then, one night, when Archie was about eight weeks old, I got up for yet another 3 a.m. feeding. As I was rocking him back to sleep, I saw Archie become focused on my face and just stare at me. As I looked into his deep brown eyes, I suddenly felt my mom’s presence–a sense that she was the soul looking back at me. In my head, I asked, Mom? And right at that moment, Archie smiled. Not a sleepy smile, not an accidental smirk. An intentional, knowing smile that never broke eye contact. Isn’t this fun? I heard my mom say. I told you this would be fun.

Whatever you or I believe about spirituality, the moment was powerful. I wept as I realized one of the best ways to honor her memory is to be a happy, enthusiastic, optimistic mother to Archie. (The process to actually get there took longer; more on that in a later post.) Because Mom’s right: This is fun.

Now, at 9 months old, Archie knows who we are and smiles when he sees us. He jumps in his seat when we open a jar of baby food, and he kicks with excitement when it’s time for his bath. He lets me trim his nails, but hates to have his nose wiped. He waves his hands when I say “Publix!” and I’m pretty sure he laughs at us when he poops.

Now, he’s no longer “the baby.” He’s Archie.

On one of my last trips home to Illinois, I found the baby book my mom kept after I was born. On one page, she talks about how I’ll always be special to her because I was her first-born, and that “I sure do love her more every day.”

Now I can only imagine that someday Archie will be reading this as an adult, and Archie, I want you to know I’ll make plenty of mistakes in my life, but having you will never be one of them. All I want is for you to be happy, because my world is happier with you in it. You’ll always be special to me, and I sure do love you more every day.