6 months on..

My new mummy friend started a blog 'Sonny's Mummy' and it got me inspired to get clicking on the keyboard too.  I have been a diary keeper, a useful way of decluttering the mind but a public blog seems rather scary! Well today I am giving it a go.

My beautiful son is now over 6 months old.  He is no longer a tiny, scrunched up infant but rather a happy, bouncing, active baby boy.
Having all too quickly reached this stage I find myself glancing in prams and assessing the the age of tiny babies and thinking to myself; 'Aww, remember when Joel was that size?'.  I cannot deny that pang of jealousy when strangers coo over the tiny new baby in the queue in Asda rather than Joel.  Old news son.
However it is important to pinch myself, take off the rose tinted glasses and recognise that those new mums with the tiny babies deserve the attention and the fuss.  It is their prize for making it out of the house after only 2 1/2 hours sleep, constant night feeds, unexplained crying and entertaining countless unexpected/unwanted visitors.  I have no idea how I made it through the exhaustion, emotion and confusion of those first few weeks.  Life as a new mother presents many challenges; lack of sleep, self doubt, advice overload to name but a few.

Lack of Sleep
After 3 days of labour, 4 days in hospital, fighting a kidney infection and recovery from an instrumental delivery its safe to say I was exhausted, and having a new born by the bed side means no rest, no way!  I was very lucky and had my own private room at the Ulster Maternity Ward but the walls were closing in on me and without the support of my husband I was fading fast.
Nearing the end of my pregnancy I was thinking 'I cannot wait to be not-pregnant, to be able to put on my own socks, wear normal clothing - bliss!'.  Boy was that short sighted!!  I was aware that having a new baby would be hard work but I was not prepared for the recovery from the exhaustion of labour.  Normal clothing? Ha! My body was definitely not my own.  My poor swollen ankles wouldn't fit in any of my slippers or shoes to leave hospital.  The pain of the stitches meant that I struggled with tasks and movement.  On day 4 when my midwife said to me 'We are going to try to maybe look at getting you and baby Joel ready for home' my eyes filled with tears.  TRY??? MAYBE???  I NEEDED to get home, NEEDED the support of my husband.
For his support I am eternally grateful, he picked me up from hospital and transported me to our spotless flat and ushered me off to bed for an extended nap.  A quivering new parent himself, he put my needs first, recognised my need to recover and made sure I got all the rest I needed over those first few weeks.  I'm not sure if he realises the value of his sacrifice, without him I could not have functioned.

Self Doubt
Coming from a work background in childcare people expected me to be a natural and this expectation weighed heavy on me.  Nothing prepares you for the waves of self doubt that you must swim against.  For me it began when new baby boy Lucas was placed on my chest, I suddenly thought, 'Oh Christ, can I do this? Phil and I are getting on well in our wee flat.  We go out for dinner, drink beer, watch movies, I'm suddenly not sure if we are ready for baby responsibility!"
Joel cried and screamed the whole time in hospital and for about the first 5 weeks.  My internal doubter constantly chattered; 'Why do the midwives not help?  Is this a test?  Should I lift him?  Am I spoiling him?  Should I ask for help or am I supposed to know all the answers?  Will they judge me?'
at home Phil appeared to calmly cope with the new parenting experience much more than me.  I was pretty certain Joel hated me and I had no idea what he wanted when he cried and my hormones were all over the place.   I would eyeball Joel nervously every time Phil said he was going to nip to the shop. Help! When would I feel normal again?  Where was this unconditional maternal love and understanding the Parentcraft classes promised me?  Joel was stripping me of my identity and confidence and I wasn't enjoying it.
In the first 3 weeks I experiences some very dark days and I dreaded the thought of Phil going back to work.  My lifeline was a girl I used to work with who had given birth to her son 2 1/2 months before.  Her honesty and bravery in sharing her experience with me gave me the strength to believe I was normal.  Others find it hard too.  I can do this.  My conversations with Ruth were like a breath of fresh air compared to cooing family members; 'Oh isn't motherhood wonderful?  Couldn't you just look at him all day?"
 Ruth lifted a weight off my shoulders and helped me feel like I'm not an awful person.  I'm not sure she knows how important she was to my recovery and my mental health but I have made a vow to be a 'Ruth' and be open and honest about my experience as it could help someone else who is struggling.

Advice Overload
From doctors, to health visitors to midwives, from friends, family and strangers, everyone offered their two cents.  At the start I was desperate for people to tell me what to do and I soaked up every bit of this advice soup I was being spoon fed.  But it became too much, it began to contradict,  it didn't match my baby and I became stressed.  Its a cliche - but cliches exist for a reason - every baby is different!  There is no baby dictionary.  There is no harm in tapping into the experience of the community around you but I learnt to use my mummy filter and follow my inner instinct and gut feeling.
To my neighbour and close friend Teresa I am thankful.  Having had a baby just 9 months before, during my pregnancy I held her up to be mother guru thinking when this baby comes I will have advice on tap!  But when Joel was born, after an initial cooing visit, I rarely heard from Teresa.  Not because she abandoned me but because she knew the overwhelmed feeling of motherhood, she did not bombard me with advice like the others.  But Theresa never missed a call when I needed her and she always had her door open and her tea brewing when I needed.  She offered to pick up milk, had a listening ear and a reassuring 'I know, its hard' when I needed to vent.  Thank God for good neighbours.

When removing my rose tinted glasses and remembering the tough times I nod to those that helped me in my first few weeks, and those who continue to stand by.  Becoming a mother changes you and inevitably your friendships but I am a lucky girl with some great friends to rely on.  My school friend Laura was my cheerleader through pregnancy and has behaved convincingly interested in all sorts of birth/nappy/weaning details.  Catherine continues to uphold our oranges and tea and gossip ritual around Joel's routine.  Gemma includes Joel in all lunch dates considering my travel with him and pram accessibility!  Great mates!
Motherhood also forces new friendships from shared experiences.  Sonny's Mummy and I can chat for hours about poop, nappies, weaning without a flicker of boredom! We have genuine excitement in each others mothering milestones and slimming world achievements!
And where would any of us be without our mummies?  She is the superhero who makes sure I have warm tea and who I want to be when I grow up.
But my rock and soul is Baby Joel who at week 5 gave me a big gummy smile and made every dark moment worth while, and ancient history.

When I see those new mums with wrinkled babies and pass that pang of jealousy, I hope for them they have the support I had.  I hope they have Laura's and Teresa's and Ruth' and Phil's and more!  I want to lean over to them and, in the vain of the new SMA follow on milk advert tagged 'You're doing great', give them a reassuring squeeze and say, 'It gets easier, I promise.'