Being Mum
By: Jo Irwin
Tags: Pandemic Diaries, Motherhood, Baby, Parenting

I had a baby.

An incredibly cute, incredibly small, incredibly real baby.

She’s this mental muddle of magic, that I still can’t believe I grew in my very own belly. And at times, she terrifies me.

The responsibility of being her Mum, of knowing that for the longest time I will be the answer to all of her problems, of keeping her alive day to day floors me. The moment she arrived I went into SAS mode — on immediate high alert that sees me risk assessing every minute of her day without even realising I’m doing it.

The overwhelming love I’ve begun to have for her is frightening. A love that makes my knees tingle as it climbs up when she smiles, or grabs hold of my hand or looks longingly at me as she has her lunch. It’s a love that I’ve never known and I’m shit scared of ever loosing it.

I didn’t feel it instantly. If I’m honest, I spent a number of weeks wondering if we’d done the right thing. I didn’t feel like her Mum, I didn’t understand why it was so hard and I wasn’t sure I was up to the job. I’d watched too many programmes, heard too much about the ‘rush of love’ you get when they’re placed in your arms and when I was four weeks in and still without it I started to think I wasn’t meant for the role. If you don’t get it there and then, at that crazy moment of blood and gore, don’t stress. There’s a lot going on. Sometimes the love is a ‘grower’ and there aint nothing wrong with that.

We still don’t know what we’re doing. We make what feel like big life decisions for this little lady all the time. There’s no manual. There’s no helpline you ring or app you swipe that tells you what to do. You go with your gut, close your eyes and pray whatever you decided to do doesn’t bring her out in a rash.

Her cries still pain me, not because I find them frustrating or because they are taking their toll on me (also fine). You just realise you never want them to be sad.

When she does new things, like smile or chat or reach for the black and white book that she’s obsessed with, you feel an immense sense of pride. Partly because she’s yours and she’s doing well but mainly because you feel like you did a really epic job growing someone so cool.

I suspend reality often. When I have to take myself out of myself to get really stuck into rustling a silver sheet and waving a light up stick in front of her face to provide her with a truly beneficial sensory experience. I have to become someone brand new to do wheels on the bus because, fuck. That song is jarring.

I enjoy bath time as much as I used to enjoy happy hour. And that is a fact.

I hope I never look at my body again and think ‘I wish that was smaller’, ‘I wish that was more toned’. I’ve never felt more confident in it, because it did something truly amazing this year.

But it’s not easy.

The tiredness they all tell you about is real. I didn’t take that seriously enough and I kick myself for it. I thought because I’d pulled a few benders on hen dos over the years and have been a shocking sleeper since my mid-twenties that I would be fine. I wasn’t. You laugh at yourself for thinking that way when you realise your baby is five days old and you’ve had, at best, 45 minutes sleep in every 8 hour stretch and you’re not sure if you’re starting to see things or if that doctor really is dressed as a duck. Plan for some help. Because at one point you’ll need to just give your baby to someone and say ‘please, just for a while’.

I didn’t take a lot seriously, actually.

I didn’t take the medical side of what happened seriously at all. What happens to your body, what the babies have to go through to get here is truly mammoth. Life altering. It’s not always all birth pools and LED hospital compliant candles and easy latching. Sometimes it is and it’s beautiful and it does look like it does on the tele. Sometimes things don’t go to plan. Sometimes you need some science to help get you where you need to be. Sometimes it’s really scary. And there’s no shame in any of that, but read up on those things so you’re not blindsided when you don’t manage to just ‘breathe your baby out’.

I didn’t take what was going to happen to me seriously at all. Physically and emotionally. Up until July I’d never had so much as a tooth out and there I was pushing 8 pound of person out of my nether regions. Sometimes you’re out of hospital later that day, and walking the pram to the shops by the end of the week. Sometimes there are complications. Sometimes the recovery is long and tricky. Sometimes your baby blues will last for the day your milk comes in. Sometimes they last a little longer. Sometimes you are further down the road in need of a little bit more help because your body and your brain has been through the mill. And there’s no shame in any of that either.

I thought I’d be back to me in six weeks. I’m now not sure I’ll ever be back to me.

But that’s OK too. Because in July I was me.

But now, I’m her Mum.

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