When you see that new mum rocking it – multitasking and then some – fulfilling every need of their newborn and other children to boot, don’t be fooled. Going through the motions says nothing about what’s going on inside our hearts and heads. Here’s a small snapshot into the bonding process of me and my littlest one. They are snippets from the last seven weeks, sometimes I can recall the time, other times it’s just a blur of thoughts and feelings.
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Week 7
As I fell asleep I had surround-sound breathing – little one to my right – big one to my left. I’m surrounded by my boys. My boys. God what a term to write. I want to read it over and over. Those two words are the most beautiful I’ve ever heard.
You’ve been half smiling for weeks. I know if I’d spent time looking in your eyes and smiling you’d soon mirror me. Tonight I was ready. I smiled. You smiled. Your big brother loved it, so we had some pictures of you both smiling in-between the bedtime routine. Then, in the 27 seconds we had alone while he went for his last wee I held you in my arms and stared into those eyes. You smiled, not just with your lips but with those beautiful big eyes too. They showed me so much love I cried and fell into your love.
Today was difficult. You fed on and off all morning, rejecting sleep. I spent the rest of the time doing dishes, washes and cooking. It hit me that life will now be full of this mundane crap, even more than before. No matter how efficient I am I’ll always be one step behind. But tonight I held you on my chest as your brother (eventually) fell asleep beside us. Then I held you some more. After putting you down beside me I stroked your cheek and told you I love you. Small steps. We are getting there.
I’m so bloody angry today. Work have been on the phone about my redundancy. I’m trying to fight to get slotted into another role and it’s not happening. Why does life have to contain so many battles? Why does it have to be now when I should be allowed to focus my attentions on you – my newborn. I just want to cuddle you without a shitty work call or a crazy four year old interrupting.
I spent an hour scrolling through the photos. Trying to compare you to your brother at his age. That hint of similarity was hard to find elsewhere. But when I climbed into bed you felt more familiar. Dare I say it, you’re actually more beautiful than your big brother was when he was a baby so what’s my problem? Although you both do this weird big eyed thing where you pull your face back into itself and your eyes stick out a mile.
I looked at a picture of your big brother when he was about 16 months old and I could see a hint of you in that beautiful face. It felt so familiar seeing his photo and recognising you in him. Perhaps you’re not so scary after all, I mean he’s a pretty amazing little boy so I’m sure you will be too.
I forced myself to turn to you in that quiet time this morning when you were lying there awake and your brother still slept. I realise we don’t get enough time alone. Even our bedtime feed is distracted as I read bedtime stories for your brother and we all *try* to fall asleep together in one overheated bed. Tonight he wasn’t playing ball and there was a lot of shouting before he finally lay still. But I’m looking at you and you’re so cute with your arms and legs flapping all over the place. Those little noises from the back of your throat. Your head and eyes twitching from side to side.
Your brother has been exhausting the last few days – he seems to be constantly trying to annoy those around him. His success rate is outstanding. I wonder though – is there something in this? Our relationship was so intense do we have to go through some sort of painful “separation” before room can be made for you? I hate the way it is currently. No time for you. No real time for your brother either. And the shouting. All the shouting. Everytime I hear about something sweet another parent is enjoying about their child I feel pangs of jealousy. I’m not getting any time to enjoy your newborn cuteness and I’m not having any fun with my supposedly ‘fun’ four year old. I’m just shouting, feeding (all of us) and surviving. If I’m honest I think it’s been like this for forever.
Week 6
I’m looking at you. I can tell you’re cute. Especially when you’re all wrapped up with only your head peeping out. There’s not been much of that in this summer weather – just a nappy has had you in pools of sweat. I prefer you with clothes on, it has to be said. Somehow your largness is less intimidating and you look more baby like. You’re lying on the floor of the coach after a nursery day trip with your big brother (in your buggy bassinet I might add). I side glance over to you now and then, when I’m not screaming at your brother to put his seat belt on and sit down for the last time. But I just can’t feel it. I know I love you. I just can’t work out which is empty – my head or my heart. The tears keep welling up. But they dissolve into themselves. I guess this bonding journey isn’t one way. I know where it ends though, I just need to ride it out until we are there.
I wrote ‘my boys’ in a post today. I wanted to scream it, ‘MY BOYS’ that little ‘s’ making all the difference. I was so proud, so happy to type those words. I have everything I ever wanted.
It’s finally hitting me. I have a baby. All I’ve wanted for the last four years. As I start to realise the epicness of your presence I smile, then start to well up. Still the tears won’t fall – it’s too much to accept it’s true. Two years of not believing this would happen and almost two spent trying and waiting for your arrival. I remember when your brother was born, “Oh my god it’s a baby…it’s MY baby”, I screamed in shock and ecstacy. The hugeness of it all washing over me immediately. This time it’s too huge; I can’t acknowledge what’s happening for fear of a tsunami. Instead, I dip my toe gently into this sea of love, edging myself in cautiously as it covers my entire being. This is the English sea, not the Indian ocean, I will dive in eventually and when I do, that refreshing water will bring me back to life.
10.30am
Your brother’s coming home tomorrow. It’s our last day as a twosome for some time to come. The space we’ve had has been so precious. The snuggles and cuddles, the silence to breathe each other in. To really breathe. Not to breathe and feed and read whilst shoving down some food. I’m ready now. Ready to be your mum. Ready to love you unconditionally – fat cheeks and all. Now I know this maternity leave will be so sweet. I just hadn’t realised it had started without me.
2.58am
I get it. You’re as cute as fuck now go the hell to sleep.
2.26 am
I could stare at your face forever. I’ve only slept an hour so far tonight so my eyes are struggling to stay open but your face. Those eyes. Staring at your night light so intently, trying to work out what it is. Alert, beautiful; serene and thoughtful. You are all. I see me in those eyes; a baby me with chubbier cheeks. I could stare at your face forever, my love.
The delight of your fat squidgy cheeks pressing against mine as we cuddle. Holding you tight, never wanting to let go. These were the moments I’d spent two years waiting for. Daring to enjoy them takes courage and time.
You’ve gone from the 98th percentile to the 99th. Are you growing too much? Already out of most of the 0-3 month clothes – so many cute outfits I’ve hauded for four years only to have to discard them without touching your body. Am I overfeeding you? How is that possible when you still struggle to latch? Why do you writhe around in pain and vomit like that? Is it possible to grow on air?
It’s the middle of the night. You’re been feeding every two hours, I can barely lift you and laying you down without a sudden bump is near impossible, I’m straining under your weight. I try a dummy to settle you without feeding but it doesn’t really work unless I hold it there constantly but I keep falling asleep and letting go. I’m not sure how many more nights of this I can cope with.
Week 5
We walked to the marshes today. Laying down beside you I snuggled against your warm skin. I talked to you. Silly words, they don’t mean anything. But I’m learning how to parent differently this time. I’m in such a different place to when your brother was a baby I must learn everything anew. I can talk now. I must talk now.
I can’t sleep. What if something happens to you? I can hear you breathing but what if it stops? I think I’m going mad. I daren’t switch off. I’ve hardly slept in days.
And there we have it. There was no sudden moment, but I can feel I’m starting to let you in. With it the fear expands infinitely; letting you in involves fearing you’ll leave me.
As your eyes begin to open more so do mine. I can finally see me reflected in those big brown beauties in more ways than one.
Your sighs. So beautiful. There is no pretence, no hiding, when you’re in my arms you calm and let go. I wish I could do the same. I’m learning to. With each little sigh of yours I know I am all you need and I’m trying to be there for you.
I break you down. Into your constituent parts. Your whole is too much for me. But your foot. I can delight in that foot each and every time. I focus my entire energy on those feet. Their softness. Their perfection. Oh, to have those feet pushing on my thigh as I feed your being. How can a foot bring such delight to one’s heart.
Your brother’s gone to the grandparents. The peace and quiet is bliss. We curl up on the spare bed, the sun blazing through the window. I study you intently. I lay there feeding you as your little foot presses against my thigh. Your little foot with your long toes splayed out against my hand. The cutest toes I’ve ever seen, each one more perfect than the last. Reminding me of little caterpillars. Your feet, your legs, so beautiful. Chunky. Short. Still twisted in, betraying the position you took in the womb. Perfect for a footballer.
Last night was rock bottom. Only my Google search history was witness to my midnight research into bonding with babies – big babies, ugly babies – I researched it all. There were no answers there though.
Week 4
Its night time again, I turn away, turn my back on you. It’s so overwhelming seeing you there. So small and needy, yet so big and strong. Your size; your presence. It’s all too much.
I feed you. When you need me I am there but I know you want more. Can I give it?
Those fat breasts and multiple chins. Big babies are cute they say – healthy and strong. I’m struggling to agree. How can that much fat be healthy? Is your ‘father’ obese, I wonder? Did I already set you off on the wrong foot with the gestational
diabetes? Who is this unknown giant I’ve brought into our home?
I place you on my chest as the early morning sun streams through the curtain edges. Gently bounce you back to sleep.
Why is it four years later I still hear his voice echoing in my head. I want to believe I’m not a horrible person but maybe I am. I scream too much at your older brother. I have no patience. There’s no fun in this home. This is all too much for me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had another child.
Week 3
I know I’ve screwed everything up with my first born. Now I’m about to screw you up too. Why is this all so overwhelming??
Why do you scream when I’m feeding you. Choking on my milk supply. Why can’t I calm you? You can’t latch on, you can’t settle. What should I do?
Week 2
Who are you? Do you look like him? I flick through his baby photos again. I can’t really see it. But you don’t look like me either. Nor your big brother. Who is this stranger I’ve brought into our lives?
Week 1
Why won’t you grip my finger tight? Is there something wrong with you? Are my fears of your “father” being ‘abnormal’ going to be realised? I’ll never know. Was it the lack of oxygen or your genes doing this to you?
The soul of your feet are so soft, like candy floss. I stroke them again just to check I felt that right.
I see the other babies on the ward. So small, so sweet. Why are you so huge? My body is broken, the agony intense. Maybe if you’d been smaller everything would have been OK.
Day 1
Afternoon:
Is he breathing, is he breathing, I panic as I quickly turn to look at him in my mother’s arms. “Is he dead?” Her look is astonishing.
Watch him. I can’t look at him. What if he dies. I tell my mum.
I drift in and out of a pain ridden sleep, flashbacks of the nights experiences.
1pm
What have I done. What the fuck have I done? “I can’t do this” I tell my mum. “But this is what you wanted”, her face painfully confused. Not this I think.
8.30am
The oxygen was limited at birth, they said. Would there be a long term impact I asked. They couldn’t confirm but they didn’t think so.
8am
Who is he? He looks so strange. He’s so black. Why’s he so black*? He doesn’t look like anybody I know. I want to scream at them, “I don’t even know what the fucking father looks like.” I swallow it down instead.
7.57am
“Has he died? Oh my god has he died?” I scream as the doctor appears to cover his face with the towel. They turn to me bewildered. “Of course he hasn’t died”.
7:48am
“Is he alive?” I ask worriedly, as expert hands pull the cord from around the throat of the small body that has flopped on the bed between my legs. It is clamped and cut within a split second. “He, he, he” I hear of the medics rushing around me – it must be a boy I conclude. He’s such a funny colour. What a strange colour for a baby, I think, a sort of grey-black. My body is present but I can’t quite grasp hold of my brain.
7:47am
One large rip and it’s finally over.
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How far back should I go. To my first attempt or number six? So much riding on this pregnancy, thousands of pounds but that’s just the start, what about the tears, fears and heart ripped apart. This baby took almost two years in the making, a few weeks to bond is nothing in the grand scheme. Anything so precious could never be taken for granted, this love needs time to grow roots deep and strong.
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* The doctor diagnosed him as having congestion due to the constriction around his neck (the cord). This lessened in the first five minutes of his life, apart from on his face where it took a few days to go down and for his face to return to his natural colour. I’ve since looked over the photos of him in the hours after his birth and it makes me cry, the colour of his face and his feet in particular seem almost deathly blue.