When I was pregnant the last time, I had a LOT of plans (what I now refer to as notions) about what pregnancy, birth, and parenthood would be like.
Regarding pregnancy I knew I was going to be the best, most well nourished, healthy eating, regularly exercising pregnant lady ever, ever, EVER. Until week 11 hit and I needed to eat a crisp sandwich every hour or risk feeling like I was going to spew. I did exercise a bit, but mainly I found sleeping suited me better than any activity.
In preparing for the birth I did all the classes and listened to all the hypno-birthing apps and got all the acupuncture and read all the books and massaged all the periniums (okay, okay I just massaged my one), I was gonna natural birth the absolute shit out of this baby.
The baby was breach, there wasn’t enough fluid, towards the end the doctors were convinced he wasn’t growing and he was too small, I was possibly leaking amniotic fluid, the placenta had been disturbed, the rhesus negative thing was causing issues. Lying in a vaguely hallucinatory state on an operating table as the baby was surgically removed from my body was NOT a part of the plan.
F*ck, sh*t, f*ck, p*ss – none of this was going to plan.
No matter, the baby has arrived safely now for the magical breastfeeding experience to commence…
Oh dear, it’s taking a seriously looooooooong time for the breastfeeding experience to evolve from head-wrecking to magical. It got there eventually, but it was probably my greatest lesson thus far in just how futile planning can be when it comes to parenthood.
With feeding in place now I can get down to the business of bonding with my baby… but wait, what’s this all-pervading blackness permeating my every thought? Why can’t I face holding my baby? Why does just the sight of the baby cards fill me with sickening, icy dread? Oh great looks like friendly life-f*cker, postnatal depression is gonna be moving in for a while.
With each notion effectively laughed out of the building by the reality of parenthood, I slowly but surely had an important realisation. I had been focusing all along far too much on what I’d thought parenthood should be, to enjoy what parenthood is: chaotic and awesome and messy and frightening and lonely and life-affirming and boring and dull and beautiful and unpredictable.
At some point in that head-melting first year of motherhood, I think I very slowly began to catch on to the joy of parenthood, which is living in the moment. I think I am getting better at not trying to constantly anticipate what’s coming next or setting myself mad goals like ‘be the best mother ever.’ A lot of the time I’m a pretty terrible mother. During my tango with PND, I was obsessed with being a terrible mother and not having the right and normal reactions to parenthood, but I’m starting to forgive myself these failings and to recognise that they’re not that important. What’s important is living in the moment, enjoying my son and showing him that he’s the best thing that ever happened to me (even if things didn’t really go to my carefully laid plans).
Now I am expecting my second baby, though I feel like I don’t even want to use the word ‘expecting’ here, because I can honestly say that I’m not thinking too much about what’s coming next. Right now this baby, who we call Bugg, lives in my belly and is a source of great intrigue for my son, and that is very nice indeed without expecting much of anything else from Bugg (or me) for the time being.
What’s been YOUR biggest lesson since becoming a parent? Tell us in the comments…
