I walked into the guestroom at my parents-in-law’s house and immediately began to sob. I tried to compose myself but could barely catch my breath, let alone stop the onslaught of tears from forging an unwelcome path down both of my cheeks. On and on they came. I had that desperate inhalation of breath that children get when they’ve had a big fall. I focused on my breathing as much as I could. My eyes were stinging. I was so tired. My heart ached. I was in absolute despair.
There are many many reasons that a first time mum might be hiding in a room crying. I’m not sure if anyone else has had to leave their home and sit on a hard dining room chair five days after a vaginal birth, but I did not want to be there. I found watching my baby be passed around absolutely excruciating. Rationally I kept telling myself that they were hosting us because they wanted to be hospitable while my parents were visiting, and that they were my baby’s family too. They wanted to love him and celebrate him. It didn’t help.
He began to sound disgruntled in someone else’s arms and they attempted to soothe him. “I’ll take him.” I quickly said.
“Relax, you know they can sense their mum’s stress. Just chill. He’s fine.”
I didn’t say anything more, but I took him from their grasp. The internal battle of being a people pleaser versus the protective instinct as mum began in that moment and truthfully has never left me. I’m sure most parents struggle with this. In fact I see many saying they do on instagram with infographics explaining what they will and won’t allow their family to do with their newborn. Do: offer to do the dishes when you visit. Don’t: kiss my brand new baby on the face.The idea is that they’ll disseminate said post before visitors arrive, thereby boycotting the awkward conversation. That’s still far too uncomfortable for me, even pre-postpartum hormones!
The postpartum instinct no one warned me about
My problem was bigger than trying to express my needs politely. It was that I didn’t feel comfortable with anyone else holding him. I would go so far as to say as I felt possessive. He was mine. Only I knew his needs intrinsically and I wanted to be the one to provide them. At that dinner I felt pressured to share him around, but I wasn’t ready.
The gathered parties suggested I give the baby to my mother-in-law “she’s a baby whisperer”, they said, and go and have a lie down. I did not want to lie down there. I did not want to lie down without my baby. I wanted to lie down at home - with him. I told my husband I was at my limit and we needed to go. He begged me to wait five more minutes because his mum wanted to wipe flour on the baby’s face - a Macedonian tradition that is meant to protect them, warn off evil and integrate them into the community. My people pleasing won that battle. I waited. But I held him close the whole time.
When I became pregnant with my second IVF miracle, I was thrilled to reach out to the same midwife who had supported me through my first pregnancy. We reconnected and reflected on last time and she made a comment that really stuck with me.
“Oh my God Hannah, you were so obsessed with the baby!”
“What do you mean? Surely every new mum is obsessed? How was I any different?”
“Yes, they are. But not like you. You literally wouldn’t put him down.”
This took me back. I thought what I experienced was universal. It caused me to reflect. Since then, speaking to other women, I don’t think what I felt is normal, but it is more common than we think. I know I’m not the only one.
When my son finally made his way earthside, after two years of trying to conceive, a round of IVF and forty weeks and six days of cooking in my womb, I felt complete. I was inexplicably tired, yes, and in emotional turmoil over our feeding troubles but I have never felt so whole. Mother. The title I had coveted for so many years, was now mine.
Where my possessiveness stemmed from
In my mid-twenties I suffered from two years of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. During treatment a doctor said that my nervous system had become stuck in fight or flight. Since that horrendous ordeal I am extremely boundaried in protecting my nervous system at all costs. That devotion was immediately channeled into my child the moment I knew I was pregnant. It determined my birthing preferences, which fortunately were almost entirely honoured. And now that he was here, I would move heaven and earth to fix any ailment as quickly as possible for him.
People, doctors, husbands, would say to me, sometimes babies just cry. That wasn’t good enough. I believed it was my son’s only way to communicate and that he had a reason for every wail. It was my job to find out what that was and tend to it. This began to spill over into micromanaging my husband even if I needed to tap out from doing it myself, I’d inevitably snatch the baby back because he wasn’t doing it right. A forewarning or foreshadowing?
When I was pregnant one of my closest male friends, already a dad, imparted some words of wisdom to me. He said that I will likely know how to do everything with the baby. It will feel natural to me. And my husband will be learning his own way. It may not be the same way, but that doesn’t mean it is wrong. Try not to criticise. Try not to criticise. Ah, I definitely tried. I’m afraid I did not succeed.
Twelve weeks into our little boy’s life my husband and I had to have a big chat. He felt judged and micro-managed beyond a level that he could tolerate. Something had to change. It didn’t happen overnight, I’ll be honest with you. My feelings of perfectionism in how the baby needed to be cared for did not dissipate quickly. Little by little though, I began to relax into my matrescence journey.
The biological causation of my experience
Over time the dust began to settle. A microscopic shift happened early on when the little fellow would not sleep in his bassinet. My lovely midwife showed us how to swaddle tightly, rock gently, transfer correctly. None of it worked. Another midwife, Holly, had come to check his weight and as she sat on the sofa with me as I sobbed. I cried streams of tears. I couldn't identify where they were coming from. Partly from hormones. Partly because of the overwhelming desire to do it all perfectly. Holly told me that human babies are one of the most dependent mammals on earth. She said that there are two types of mothers in the animal kingdom. One gives birth then goes to gather for their offspring to show their love, the other pops them in their pouch and keeps them as close as possible. We are the latter. “If your baby only wants to sleep on you, that’s okay. That’s biologically normal. He isn’t supposed to be able to sleep in the bassinet yet.” Relief flooded over me. Permission had been granted. I wasn’t failing. I was allowed to keep him close.
The shift was so slight, it was impossible to spot. But it planted something in me. Validation. I was not only allowed to keep him close, I was meant to. My sister told me it takes 1,000 yeses for a baby to trust you. A thousand times you run to them in the night for them to believe you’ll always come. We made our way to our thousand. We found our rhythm. I wore him in the carrier as I carried out things around the house. We went on outings together; swimming, coffee, play groups. My confidence grew and my faith that he had everything he needed did too.
Two years in, this is where we’re at now
It wasn’t even returning to work and him starting daycare (excruciating) that helped loosen the invisible cord that tied us together. It was having a second baby and being forced to accept I simply cannot do everything and my best is good enough. I’m much more calm than I was but I've still never slept apart from the children. I gave birth to my daughter in three hours and was back home for breakfast with my son. I have a work opportunity in Sydney next month and am battling with whether I should fly up the same day, or go the night before, as they’d prefer me to. I’m processing the high bar I've set myself with this rule that I always sleep under the same roof as my children. The problem is, I don’t feel a need to separate. This life is everything I’ve ever wanted. I love it.
It dawned on me this weekend that despite all of the podcasts I listen to and books I read there is no right way to parent. I have all the theory, but in practice we’re fallible people doing our best in some quite challenging moments. Accepting this has been empowering. All these kids really need is for your eyes to light up when they enter the room, and mine are no longer brimming with tears, they are ablaze for them.
