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A year into motherhood: Forever changed, forever the same

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When I look back on my life before my daughter was born, all I do is search for her.

Where was she on our wedding day? Where was she on that city break? Did my mum hold onto her while I took my A-levels? Did she sleep by my bed in halls?

I search our photos for a pram just out of shot, or a tiny hand clutching my trouser leg, because I struggle to believe there was ever a time before.

I knew that having a baby would change my life, I just didn’t know how.

I didn’t know that whilst the tiredness, relentlessness, and lack of moments to myself would be hard to adjust to, it would be the weight on my heart that would change me the most.

I knew that I’d love her, but I had no idea what that love would feel like. She’s starting nursery now, and I had to fill out a form explaining what she needs to be happy. A form about me would just say: HER. Bring me her. Show me she’s OK and everything will be fine. She’s what happiness looks like for me now.

Our baby will turn one this week, and the oddest thing about this milestone is how simultaneously quickly and slowly this year has passed by. I’ve lived every second of the last 12 months, and yet it’s slipped through my fingers. There have been days when I’ve been awake for and aware of almost every hour, but I’m still not sure how quite so many of them have gone by.

One minute she was a newborn who lay down for most of the day, and now she’s a little person, on a one-child-mission to destroy our lounge. I can’t tell you how a year has managed to sneak passed in the life of a girl whom I swear we only just brought home.

Back at the start, once the initial weeks of fear and feeding and figuring it all out were done, I realised that I didn’t know where to put myself. I wasn’t sure what day-to-day life with a baby was supposed to look like once you’d got your sh*t together. But then I joined some classes and groups, I tried doing too much, I tried doing too little, and I found a balance that worked for us. Maternity leave is an education in how to cope when you feel lost. You’ve got to do it your way, the only problem is that it’s you who has to work out what that is.

Motherhood has changed who I am and confirmed who I’ve always been, all at the same time.

Becoming a mum wiped the floor with me – it shattered my heart, rewired my brain, and stretched, scarred and knackered my body more than even the most high-tempo zumba class ever could. It’s fundamentally changed how I see the world, and given me a sense of purpose like nothing I’ve ever done before. It’s slowed my desired pace of life right down, and made me see the benefits of a life lived locally.

It’s done all of this whilst also cementing everything I’ve always known to be true: That I need fresh air everyday. That too much small talk leaves me cold. That I never wanted to go out on Saturday nights anyway. That I need to be creative to feel alive.

The trick, if you can manage it, is to let the person you’ve always been find a way to thrive in this new world. It’s not easy – I’m still working on it. We all just have to keep on working on it.

We’re moving into a new chapter now – I’m going back to work part-time, and our daughter will be looked after by somebody else whilst I’m gone. She went to nursery for a few hours last week, and I went to a café to write this. I cried into my hot chocolate as I typed, and then later my scrambled eggs. I’m just not used to being away from her.

It’s funny because so much of parenting is about trying to secure time away from your baby. You work hard to get them to nap so that you can rest. To play with a toy long enough for you to drink a hot drink. To. just. stay. there. whilst you go to the toilet for once by yourself. But it’s all short term, they’re always close by (she can push the bathroom door open now anyway). I hope she knows that I’ll still be close by.

This time last year I was about to have a baby, and now I have a one year old, a toddler waiting to happen. Time’s flown by, we’ve all changed and grown up, and discovered just how strong we can be.

All I want for this baby on her very first birthday is to bring her as much joy as she’s brought me.

 

Be your own adjudicator

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Be your own adjudicator

‘Should’ can be an unhelpful word, particularly when we use it as a weapon with which to beat ourselves.

Life is fast and competitive and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by our awareness of what other people are doing. I enjoy feeling connected to people I know and people I don’t via social media, and getting little insights into lives that are different from mine. But I can also feel myself drawing unhelpful comparisons. Noticing things that other people do that I don’t, and interpreting them as evidence of my failings.

But just because something exists as a possibility, it doesn’t mean that you should do it. It’s just one of the options. Do it or don’t, no-one cares.

My problem is that I hear ‘should’ when it’s not even being said. I confuse hearing somebody say “I am doing XYZ” with “You should be doing XYZ.” I see people talking about how they’re raising their children or building their careers or decorating their homes, and forget that what they’re saying has no relation to me. 

I’ve always struggled with the fear that I’m not doing the right thing. I don’t mean morally or legally – fear is such a dominant emotion for me that I’m always pretty confident I’m on the right side of the law. No, I’m worried about doing The Optimum Thing.

If we’re on holiday and looking for a restaurant, I’ll worry about choosing the ‘right’ one. What if we’d have had a better time elsewhere? What if that table by the window would have enhanced our experience? What if sitting this near the loos ruins the ambience? What if it’s actually this thought process that’ll ruin our night?

Be your own adjudicatorAnd now that I’m a parent, I – like every single mother on earth, probably – worry that I’m not doing everything I ‘should’ do for my daughter. Should we be at a class? Should we be socialising? Should we be playing educational games indoors? Should I be doing more to make the most of her – whatever that means? As if just loving and caring for her with everything I’ve got isn’t enough.

Parenting is relentless decision making. And what’s harder than being the person who has to make them all, is the realisation that nobody’s going to come along and let you know if you’re doing it right. You just have to trust yourself in the moment.

When our daughter was very small, I used to imagine there would be a time in years to come when she’d say to me: “Mum, you know that day when I was so upset in January 2018? It’s because I wanted you to heat my milk up/put me to bed/ turn off that unbearable episode of Gossip Girl.” But as the sleep deprivation started to wear off, I realised: That’s not going to happen. 

You’ll never know if you did the right thing, because the right thing doesn’t really exist. There’s no list, charting all the options in order of preference, nor is there a jury waiting to judge you on your choices. We have to be our own adjudicators.

It’s true for all areas of our lives. There’s no adjudicator who’s going to come and tell you which career path you ‘should’ have taken, which date you ‘should’ have gone on, or which Netflix series you ‘should’ have chosen to best entertain your baby. We did what we did based on the information we had at the time – there’s no other way to do it.

Be your own adjudicatorSince becoming a mother I’ve learnt that, to be happy, I have to accept my choices as I make them, one by one. Decisions require my attention quickly; I don’t always see them coming. I can’t always nail it, and, if I’m not careful, I’ll spiral into a long and pointless thought process about what I ‘should’ have done instead.

But now I’ve realised how unhelpful that is, and how many moments with my baby I’ll miss if I spend all my time analysing what I’ve done in the past.

Instead it’s better to focus on making decisions that suit us both today. My daughter is the most important person in the world to me, and I’m that to her, too. So when I’m deciding how we spend our time, it’s OK that I do so with what I need in mind as well – my energy levels, my mental health – because if I’m well, so is she. As I’ve written before, the inherent guilt of parenting makes it hard to prioritise yourself, but with nine months of experience under my belt, I can tell you: you must.

So I want to park the ‘should’ and have a little more faith. In myself as a parent and as a fallible human being, and in the need for there to be healthy differences between how we all lead our lives.

Because time will pass, no matter how we spend it. And to hand more of our precious hours over to regret, rather than to joy, and to self-criticism rather than kindness, feels like the kind of waste we should all do our best to avoid.

7 things that happen when you become an auntie

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7 things that happen when you become an auntieMy biggest news for 2016 so far is that at the end of February, I became an auntie.

My brother and his girlfriend announced the arrival of little Jack and life has never been the same since. Well, mostly for them of course – I still get a strong 7-8 hours sleep, can have a shower whenever I want, and am responsible for nothing except feeding my cheese on toast addiction. But my brain is all about baby Jack and when I’m next going to get to have a cuddle of him.

A new baby joining the family is life-changing for everyone. Conversations, decisions and occasions all revolve around him now. He has more power than any of us job-holding, mortgage-paying, degree-awarded adults, and he’s only been in the world for 53 days, the clever little thing.

I’m taking my new role as an auntie extremely seriously and enjoying every second of it. Here’s the inevitable listicle about what life is like when your nephew (or niece) has arrived. In short: pretty darn swell:

1. You stare at their photograph like a lovestruck boy band fan – The morning after Jack was born, my husband found me lying in bed, glued to the picture my brother had sent through of him the night before. I was completely in love with a baby I had never met. Scrolling through photos of the little dude is now my favourite pastime. As soon as a major baby comes into your life, you understand why parents can’t help but take pictures of their child’s every movement – their existence will never cease to feel miraculous.

2. You develop a newfound respect for your sibling – One minute your brother’s refusing to let you have a go on his Game Boy and making you so angry that you run into his bedroom and rip his posters off the wall (as discussed previously we didn’t always make life easy for each other when we were growing up), and the next he’s presenting you with his brand new baby son and making you feel so proud that you burst into tears. Having a brother really is an emotional roller coaster. Seeing your sibling and their partner more tired than they’ve ever been and yet still doing an amazing job of looking after their little one is enough to make you bow down in awe. Leon and I might think that staying up late watching old episodes of Family Guy makes us tired but something tells me that we don’t yet know the meaning of the word.

3. You and your partner vow to be the best aunt and uncle the world has ever seen – We were beside ourselves with excitement when we were heading up north to meet our nephew. I didn’t quite realise until he was born how much his arrival would feel like a gift for us too. We’ve cooed over little outfits together (often discussing just how many of the patterns on Babygros we would both happily wear on our own clothes), we’ve considered all the London sites we’re going to show him when he comes to visit, and we’ve wondered just how old the little guy will have to be before we stop referring to him as ‘baby Jack’. (Our current estimate is 18).

4. You’d think that no other baby had ever been born – I do know that Jack is not the first baby ever to grace the planet. I understand that I was once a baby and that you were too. And yet I can’t help but feel that there is something extra special about this one. In conversations I want to say “No but you don’t understand, this guy is extraordinary. I swear, nobody has ever worn dungarees so well.” But I know this is just what happens when you have a new little human in your life. In the interests of avoiding being branded a mad aunt at this early stage, I’m trying to keep this kind of observation to a minimum (although seriously his style is on point).

5. You give yourself far too much credit – When I arrived at his house this weekend, after just a few minutes of trying to figure out which part of my chest was most comfortable, Jack fell asleep. And even though my head knew that he would definitely have drifted off anyway no matter where he was lying, my heart remained open to the idea that I was in fact a baby whisperer.

6. You discover that ‘eau de baby’ is your new favourite smell – It’s a good thing that it’s not possible to inhale an entire baby otherwise I fear I might have done just that. Everybody says it but my word they smell amazing. I find myself sniffing the clothes I wore to visit Jack just to get a little dose of that gorgeous milky scent. It’s such a shame we all lose our newborn smell; I’m sure commuting through London would be a much more pleasant experience if everybody smelt like a freshly baked biscuit, instead of a hot sweaty mess of body odour, coffee, and rage.

7. You get to watch somebody learn how to be a person – The first time I met Jack he was only 10 days old. He was the littlest human I had ever seen. This time, just over a month later, he was still small, as you would expect of a baby, but he had clearly already learnt so much about the world. He can pretty much hold his own head up all by himself, he can knock back an entire bottle of milk without even needing to come up for air, and he can smile. These are major achievements. The only thing I’ve learnt in the last month is that eating two creme eggs in a day will make you feel just as nauseous as you would expect. If being an auntie has taught me anything, it’s that I really need to start making better use of my time.