I’m not proud of it, but within 48 hours of my mother leaving me in sole charge of my Precious First Born (PFB), I was ready to exchange him for some garden furniture. Forget the exchange, I’d happily just take cash. I was more tired than I’d ever felt before, but eBay is nothing if not easy. I already had hundreds of cute baby images (cute at least when viewed through mommy-glasses) and I could list him for a 7-day auction, cash on collection, thank you very much!
But praise the lord, the feeling didn’t last very long, and PFB remains with me, very much adored, paparazzi-ed and gazed upon with the same worshipful awe that I felt when he was born.
Sadistic Old-Mommy Behaviours
It’s not for lack of sleep but rather the non-stop crying that threatened to shred my nerves. Those of you with colicky babies, will know what I mean. Those smug and childless, well, I can’t wait for you to find out. Quoting my equally sadistic editor, “Once you’ve gone through this there is an evil joy in knowing others MUST too”.
In the end, after having enough of mine and baby’s joint tantrums, my husband read me the riot act: I was to Step Up. Grow Up. I was to abandon all talk of selling PFB although I thought it was rather amusing. But not as amusing as my fantastical notion of spending the languid summer of my maternity leave in the garden reading one book after another – dammit, I thought I might even write one! – with my baby gurgling contentedly nearby. Stuff and nonsense.
My baby doesn’t fancy lying down and gurgling much, so he gets strapped into the baby carrier and lugged around as I do chores around the house. I read, eat, talk over his head but he doesn’t mind much. I meet playgroup mummies, sing songs that my child will eventually learn, I make lunch dates with my friends, warning them that our entire session may end up being a brisk walk.
I find excuses to get out of the house as much as I can so my son gets used to the noise of the world – but at a walking pace as PFB’s Papaji has banned travel on the tube till PFB gets older (old enough to vote, I think!)
Pregnancy is the Easy Part
So here’s the thing: Pregnancy is the easy part. Child birth is hard whether you go au naturel or down the c-section route. The first six weeks are a bitch. And then it doesn’t get easier; rather, your body, your system, you just get used to it.
At the risk of sounding preachy I’d say the most important thing to do is to not lose perspective and take it one day at a time. It’s easy to forget that real life babies don’t come out having read books on how to deal with hunger, being trussed up in nappies, into a world where there is a day and a night.
They don’t know that their 24x7 slave is just a human being whose body is dealing with a cocktail of hormones while at the same time trying to sustain this new life that it created.
In short, babies don’t know how to give mummies a bit of slack. So ladies, make sure you grab all the help offered with both hands. And gentlemen, the least you can do for your partners is shower them with unconditional love, praise and gratitude. I’ll have seconds of that please.
(Simrat Ghuman is Head of Communications and Marketing at Anthemis Group in London. A former TV journo, she has just taken her first step into motherhood and will be serialising her quirky take on motherhood in the ‘Leopreet Ki Ma’ blogposts. You can read her (hilarious) journey through pregnancy in the Preggers blog below.)
You may also read:
- Dealing With Being Preggers: I am making a Baby!
- Dealing With Being Preggers: Just Where Do Grandparents Fit In?
- Dealing With Being Preggers: Why Not Leopreet Singh?
- Dealing With Being Preggers: Of Cravings And Indulgence
- Dealing With Being Preggers: Husband and I, Rowing the Pregnancy Boat
- Defining Motherhood: What it Feels to be a New Mommy
- Taking Baby Steps to Motherhood
(At The Quint, we question everything. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member today.)