[QUOTE=meenie7]
I don’t have kids, and this sort of thing is what makes me really nervous about ever having kids…because if the person I waited so long to find, who I love with all my heart, who I chose out of the whole world, decided to love some kid she pushed out of her body more than me just for being born, even though I’d done nothing to deserve being loved less, I would have to kill someone, probably myself.
You chose your spouse. You (usually) didn’t choose your kids. How could you love them more?
[/QUOTE]
Yeah, “you just do”. Horrible answer, I know. Let me try again.
Because you make them. Not their DNA, not their cells and their snot, but who they are and what they think about the world.
My theory is that love flows from understanding another person. We fall in love by getting to know people, right? We discuss our childhoods and our presents. We talk about our feelings, our ideas, our experiences and our whims. Eventually, we get to know them so well that we start to bring that sum total into our hearts. There’s always a gap, of course. We may know what our spouse is going to say 90% of the time, based on how well we know them, but there’s always something new or something surprising. Still, all in all, when we love someone, we feel like we know them pretty darn well. (This, I believe, is why infidelity and betrayal hurt so much - when the person in reality acts so out of character, so disparately from the person in our hearts, it’s bewildering and it sets us into a spin, sometimes literally.)
Well, when they’re little, there’s no one on earth you know better than your kids. You’re always there, you’re always with them, seeing what they see, hearing what they hear, answering their questions. If they’re in daycare, you get detailed reports about what they did all day, and you (hopefully) get to know the people taking care of them. This means you know all their “input”, or as much as humanly possible. You understand them better than any other creature on earth. So when they do stupid shit, you know why (or you think you do). When they say bizarre things, you know where it came from. And with that intense level of familiarity comes love. Stuff that would make you furious or disgusted if another person did it is adorable or at least tolerated when it’s your kid, because you know them so well.
The first time your kid comes home from kindergarten and says, “Mama, Miss Smith says…” and whatever it is contradicts you, and the kid sides with the sainted Miss Smith, it’s heartbreaking. You suddenly realize that you are not the only, or even the primary, input in their lives anymore. Right there, I think, it where the heartache of independence begins.