I’ve got one cracked nipple, one leaky boob, barf on my shirt, and haven’t showered in three days. It’s 2:00PM and just spend 45 minutes trying to settle my baby before army rolling out of her nursery like a ninja so I could go slam a bowl of cereal for lunch, only to notice I’m out of milk.
Hi, you might know me. I’m a new Mother.
In order to stay alive for the next few days, I must use the rest of my energy reserves to pack the car and enter society. Dread settles upon me with this realisation.
Know what I’m guaranteed to hear at least once while I’m out
“Enjoy this stage! It goes so fast!”
I’ll think to myself; “I sure as shit hope you’re right because this infant is literally trying to kill me.”
Do people say these things to folks as they train for marathons? Do little old ladies line the streets holding signs that read, “Enjoy this!” “No Pain no gain!” “It goes so fast!”??? Yeah-no.
I get it, the (mostly older) women (likely with grown children) at the shops are looking at me with glasses so rose-coloured that they may as well be staring through a glass of Merlot.
My Mother-in-law once described breastfeeding as “blissful” when the only word I had to describe it was “hell.” Maybe in 30 more years, I might remember it more fondly too.
I get it. The people, with the comments, they’re well-meaning. Their kids have left the nest, they reminisce about the good ole’ days. But as a new mother, I’m right in the shit.
Early days with my first baby felt like a game of emotional roulette. What would today trigger? Anxiety? Depression? Stress? I loved my baby, maybe too much, and had not enough left over for myself.
Three-and-a-half years later now, memories of that tough stuff faded a bit. Ah, the gift of forgetting, as they say. Why else would any sane woman go back and birth more children (like I’m about to do in 3 months time)? Maybe I’m looking through a glass of Rosé myself, though still decades from a Merlot or even a Pino Noir tint.
We must remind ourselves that Mothers are fragile in the early days, especially first-timers. Sometimes all they need is empathy, not strangers demanding they ‘enjoy’ every minute of ‘keeping a baby alive.’
I mean, I love my child more than anything which is why I haven’t left her on a stranger’s doorstep or given to rocking silently in a corner. Can’t I adore my kids and at the same time admit parenting is kind-of a bum deal?
Maybe try telling a new Mum it’s normal to find it hard. Tell her she is doing a great job, even if the baby is screaming as she fumbles with her wallet. Tell her to take her time. Tell her that it will get easier in some ways and harder in others.
I’m somewhere between the older woman at the checkout and the first-time Mum. Soon I’ll be back in the newborn fog and maybe a smile from an empathetic stranger might be all the fuel I need to make it five more minutes without a breakdown.
So if you see me, “The new Mum,” out in public, please don’t tell me to enjoy this. Maybe instead, tell me to keep up the good work.