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On motherhood and...Lifelines


When you become a parent, you become someone else’s lifeline. Obviously breastfeeding makes this fact very palpable and obvious, but it’s true of every aspect of looking after a baby. The responsibility can be overwhelming if you think about it for more than five minutes / when tired / when hormonal. It’s quite often said in baby books and on the several thousand websites I seem to peruse daily that mothering is hard because it’s all give and not much take. You’re the lifeline, busy providing and sustaining, but sometimes you need to be the one being looked after. And I have been, in so many ways, by so many people. This is a list of some of lifelines that have been cast my way in the last 11 weeks, big and small. I couldn’t have done it without them.
Midwives, because they…
Look sympathetic and give you a hug when you burst into tears in hospital about the fact you have constipation, despite the fact that they are juggling a dozen far more serious issues, as well as other crazy tired women with minor ailments and screaming babies.
Come to your house and wrangle your baby for you, literally clamping them to your boob on your behalf, in order to teach you breastfeeding.
Find peppy and upbeat ways of chatting to you in order to find out whether you’re handling everything ok, and make you feel absolutely fine about it whether you are or you aren’t.
Family, because they…
Turn boring tasks into luxury treats. When my sisters first came to see the baby I asked them to grab “something for lunch with vitamins, to make up for all the hospital mac ‘n’ cheese”. They turned up with bags of groceries that included avocados, smoked salmon, homemade pesto, and an entire Italian antipasto platter. I could have kissed them (I think I did, but I can’t remember, because I mixed codeine and champagne – also provided by my fam.)
Take time off work to come down and stay, pretending it’s totally fine and normal that suddenly this includes going to bed at 9.30pm.
Go for a walk with a heavy buggy around the entire perimeter of Harpenden for two hours in order to let me have a nap – this from a man who usually drives to the supermarket, five minutes away.
Sometimes prioritise you, knowing that you need to sit on the patio and drink wine and not talk about the baby for half an hour.
Friends, because they…
FaceTime you from Malawi.
Send you care packages including bath bubbles, books, baby grows, and nipple cream.
Organise baby showers when you have the most difficult-to-organise friends and family in the world.
Send you texts, call you, send cards, and just generally stay in touch when you’re by yourself at home with a newborn and no idea what you’re doing.
Come to the cinema to see films about French sex cannibals when you have a spare few hours, and make you feel like yourself again.
My other half, because he…
Is strangely good at playing with a baby who is brand new and seemingly unaware of anything much, does great voices and has brilliant names for the menagerie of stuffed animals we have acquired.
Doesn’t shout back when I shout at him about ridiculous minutiae through a fug of hormonal sleep deprivation.
Has made me a cup of tea at 4am several times, when I’ve been feeding / panicking / moping.
Makes parenting feel like teamwork.
I am officially very very lucky.
I’m resisting the urge to write #blessed.

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