Welcome, Damien Alexander

Each year on my birthday growing up, my mom would ask, “How does it feel to be 9?” Or, “How does it feel to be 13?”

My answer: “A lot like 8.” “A lot like 12.”

My birthdays never felt like they changed anything for me. One new day never made me feel like a new girl or a new woman.

But, for the second time in my life, one new day has changed me forever: Not my birthday, but my son’s. Something so foundational inside of me shifted the day Luca was born almost three years ago, and sixteen days ago, Damien’s arrival shifted me even further.

Of course, the change this time isn’t as drastic as becoming a mom in the first place, and (thankfully) it hasn’t come with the same level of emotional roller coaster drama hormones. But unlike young Mallie telling herself, “Ok, today I am 16,” if you ask me how it feels to be a mother of two, my answer most certainly will not be, “A lot like being a mother of one.”

I feel different. Hugely different.

Is it a sense of pride in my brood? Perhaps there’s some of that. But mostly it feels like I’ve grown another chamber in my heart to make room for the overflowing love that accompanied this new little person’s arrival.

When I was pregnant, I worried that I wasn’t feeling “connected” to my second baby like I had to Luca. Will I love my second son the same as the first? I wondered. Will we still bond and connect? I have been so close to Luca, and he is a known entity, whereas the baby inside felt unknown. I didn’t have time or energy to obsess and dream during my second pregnancy the way I did with Luca. I hadn’t assigned Damien wise thoughts and communications in-utero the way I had with his brother.

When Luca was born, my emotions were unlike anything I could previously imagine—even with all the obsessing and dreaming—and I can say now that it is the same with his baby brother.

When Damien Alexander Kim, all 4.23kg of him, made his grand entrance on March 27 at 12:26pm, I was overjoyed.

Damien means “one who tames,” and Alexander means “defender of men” or “helper of men.”

The name Damien caught our attention first for the sound, but second for the meaning. It reminded us of the book The Little Prince, in which a prince searches his universe for meaningful connections. One day, he comes across a fox who tells him he won’t play because he isn’t tamed.

“I am looking for friends. What does that mean -- tame?"
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."
"To establish ties?"
"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world....”

I loved Damien on sight and was beyond thrilled a challenging pregnancy was over, but with the massive hormone shift, I was strangely tearless. I cried, but no tears came. Then, once Joe had gone home to Luca, and Damien and I were encased in our somewhat depressing curtain area—my insurance only pays for a shared room in pricey Hong Kong—my hormones were still shifting, and I didn’t recognize the baby beside me in the cot. He didn’t look like the baby I already know. He didn’t look like Luca, and he didn’t act like I remember Luca acting—I remember my first son as voracious from the start, but Damien seemed to prefer sucking his own hand over trying to nurse.

He seemed like a little tiny stranger. Not quite like a hundred thousand other little boys, but you get the idea.

So we cuddled, and we bonded, and I stared at his lovely, puffy little newborn face. I threw out my plan of setting him down any time he dozed (good sleep habits can start later). My love grew as I changed each meconium diaper, as I realized he would root around not to eat, but to rest on me; to make sure he was close to me, his provider.

In short, Damien tamed me, and it didn’t take long.

Today, my heart is overflowing: With the increase in love to account for this new family member, my sense of love for Luca and for Joe are heightened as well. Of course I’m tired, and of course there are challenges and there are fears of the balancing act to come. But the joy I feel is something that was unimaginable three weeks ago.

I am mother to two boys. We are a family of four. And this just feels right.