Same jeans

Zoe was 20 weeks on Saturday. It doesn’t sound a lot, it’s less than 5 months and yet there are days when I can barely remember what it is like without her. Every day she amazes me with something. On Friday and Saturday nights she slept from 6:30pm to 6am. It was blissful to have so much sleep! On Sunday and Monday she started rolling over from front to back. She still gets that startled look on her face afterwards that says, "What happened, Mummy? I was on my front and now I’m not!" She babbles away at most things and, most of the time, is a happy contented baby. I think I’m doing a damn good job.

Of course, it hasn’t always been like that. It’s only now, as the fog of sleep deprivation slowly lifts, that I can look back on those first few weeks with a clear head. I always wanted kids. I think that’s been pretty evident from the start. Not I-want-kids in a Monica from Friends kind of way where it becomes an all-consuming passion, but I figured there’d be children in my life at some point. I thought I knew what motherhood was. I watched my mum raise my sisters during my teenage years. I knew how to change a nappy, dress a wriggly baby, feed them jars of babyfood, I saw my mum breastfeed and it looked so natural, so normal, so easy. I thought I was prepared for this.

But I don’t think anything can prepare you for this. Not the books, the classes, seeing parents around you, even chatting to friends with kids isn’t quite the same as living it. There have been tears, tantrums, I’ve considered leaving (but I didn’t have anywhere to go and I didn’t really want to leave Duncan). I thought she hated me, that I would never bond with her, I could see why sleep deprivation is considered torture by the Geneva Convention. I’ve cried more times in the last 4 and a bit months than I care to think about. Most of them at night, as I feed her for what feels like the millionth time that night. I’ve been low, thinking myself the worst mother in the world because I get frustrated when she cries and refuses to sleep (even though she’s exhausted herself, yawning and rubbing her eyes).

To me, there’s a reason why we can’t remember our early years. It’s our parents at their worst at times. It’s raw and I don’t think I fully appreciated everything my mother had done for me until I had Zoe.

All of this has passed though. I love my days singing songs and making her laugh, blowing raspberries and shaking rattles. I can’t imagine going back to work in April. Well, I can imagine going back, it makes me cry. I can’t imagine leaving her, missing all those firsts. I felt bad yesterday because Duncan missed her rolling over for the first time on her own. I tried to get her to do it again so I could video it on my phone but she wouldn’t play ball. I know how much he hates missing things like that, how much he hates having to leave us every morning. I just know that, come April 2nd, I will be the one in the corner of the office, crying my eyes out.

But all this love and sleep must have done something to my brain. I’ve agreed to Duncan’s mum coming over for 3 weeks next month. I’m trying to see the positives – a babysitter so we can go out on our anniversary, someone to help look after Zoe during the day so I can get on with some housework in one block (rather than 5 minutes of housework, 5 minutes of play), some adult conversation during the day. But really, all I can see are the negatives – I’m terrified she’ll be criticising how I’m raising Zoe every few minutes, or that she’ll try and take over and monopolise Zoe so I never get any time with her. On Sunday 10th September 2006, I felt very little towards this child who had come out of me, now I can’t imagine sharing her with anyone else other than Duncan.

Until there is a next time…

xx