SAHM, WFHM, Working Mom

When Bonding Doesn’t Come Easy

Before having my daughter, I just knew I wasn’t motherly. I didn’t have the nurturing gene. I was never really good with kids—definitely not the babysitting type. So when I got pregnant, my first-trimester therapy sessions were all about Imposter Syndrome.

It wasn’t until around 16 weeks that I started to feel an attachment. The flutters felt like gas. Seeing her on the ultrasound felt almost like an out-of-body experience—like I was the patient I take care of as a Labor and Delivery nurse, not the mom. Even at work, I realized it wasn’t the babies that made me feel fulfilled. It was the moms—their smiles when we placed babies in their arms. I wanted that. I wanted that connection.

Making Her Real

I learned that what I needed to feel that connection was her name and her gender. Giving her a name made her real to me. I started calling her by name when she moved, when she kicked, and when I successfully got her food cravings right. That’s when our bond began to form.

Then came the NICU. She was there for a week, and I was sure we’d never get that bond back.

Velcro Baby and a Laptop

Breastfeeding became my anchor—my way to hold onto the connection. I figured if I became a SAHM or WFHM, I could be there for every moment. She’d never have to grow apart from me. But the truth is, as I type this, I realize I’m not cut out for the stay-at-home life.

All of these roles—SAHM, WFHM, working mom—are jobs. Real ones. And no matter which you choose, they all require you to be away at some point. They all demand time for yourself, your mental health, your identity.

I’ve been out of work for four months. That’s new for my daughter—she’s 21 months now, and before this, I worked 3–4 night shifts a week. On my days off, I did errands, and I was often showing up as only 25% of myself. That’s why I decided to take a semester off to stay home and do school.

Well… turns out I have a Velcro baby. She sits on my laptop during class, demands my attention, and honestly—I love that she does. But it’s hard. Because every now and then, I still need to grow. To earn. To be something for myself.

And my daughter doesn’t understand that yet. She wants me, all of me, as long as she’s awake. And I want to give that to her. But that’s not sustainable.

Balance, Guilt, and Showing Up Full

At some point, we have to stop feeling guilty for choosing ourselves. I’m not abandoning my daughter when I go to work—that job keeps her belly full and the lights on. I’m not abandoning her when I go to a coffee shop to study—this degree will create a future where I never have to miss a big moment.

It’s called balance. And for me, balance sometimes means being physically away from her. It means missing her little toes and not being overstimulated so I can come back recharged.

"Because when I’m full, I’m the mom she deserves". Not touched out. Not resentful. Not depleted. I come back ready—ready to show up, be present, and love her the way only I can.