Over to you Lindsay!
Perfectly imperfect
I handed my brand spanking new baby boy to my oldest
friend in the world.
"Oh look at
him" my bestie said "I am so jealous. Being a mum is wonderful and
fulfilling and just perfect? Right?... Right?…"
Pff wrong!! My bestie is
the one person I can completely tell the truth too. Actually I think, I am not
so sure.
"..but it is though
really right? Now he's here, it's got to be worth it - you wouldn't change
anything would you?"
To be honest, at that
stage of sleep deprivation and exhaustion, I would have cut my own eyes
out to have changed all of it, if it meant I could just sleep. Giving
birth for me was the easy bit. Having a new baby was the end of the world as I
knew it. I knew that it was tough being a new parent with a tiny, defenceless,
new baby. I was warned that it was going to be hard. But nobody told me that it
would be this FUCKING hard! I mean really, really, really 'is it even worth
it?, hard! I couldn't believe that all these new Mum's I met in those early days
were just getting on with it. There were Facebook status' of "Finally sleeping through,
hurrah" by mums with 4 week old babies, and Instagram pictures
of fresh-faced, made up mums and their beautiful, sleeping babies in this
season's designer, monochrome, handmade clobber, which also happens to be hand
stitched by Insta-mums, whom themselves have 3 day old babies. What the actual fuck? Who are
these fucking super mums? And why am I the only one struggling? I counted my
blessings when my baby slept for 20 minutes or didn't cry for long enough for
me to lie him on the bathroom floor whilst I had a pee. I took a shower about
once a week (the only day I used my 20 minute blessing to do something other
than sleep) As for Make-up? What's that? I left the house in the item of
clothing, that had the least amount of sick stains on it, and socks out of the
dirty laundry basket. Having enough time to cook delicious meals to
Instagram the shit out of?...Well... that was the stuff of dreams!
A few days ago, my bestie
told me she was preggers (baby no.1) and she is ecstatic.
"This will change my
life, right?"
I want to tell her the
truth, I want her to be prepared for everything that I wasn't.
I want her to know that
my physical wounds of child birth have now healed, but the emotional
ones are raw and ingrained on my brain and my heart. Exposed always.
I want to tell her that
she will never again watch the news or read the newspapers without being
haunted by every car crash, street stabbing or house fire. "what if that
were my child?" or that she will cry and cry for all those pictures of
starving children, and at the same time just be so grateful that it's
not hers.
I want to tell her
beautifully made-up face, that no matter how clean, and tidy her clothes are,
or no matter how long it takes her to get her curly hair styled with just the
right amount of bounce that once she is a mother she will revert to the primal,
fierce instincts of a mother bear. The sound of a perfectly timed
"mummy!" will result in her heart dropping (as well as her lippy!)
without any hesitation whatsoever.
I want to warn her that
all the hours she has put into studying a PhD, and carving herself a career
mean jack-shit the minute that baby pops out, and that every single day she is at
work and away from her baby, she will not be able to think of anyone or
anything else.
I want her to know that
no matter how self-assured she is, that every future decision she makes, will
constantly be second guessed by herself, and that every insecurity she has now
about her body is irrelevant as she will never feel the same again. I want
to tell her that stretch marks are badges of honour, and her entire
appearance will be so far from important once that baby comes along. I want her
to appreciate that all the things that make her baby hurt will also make her
hurt, I know she will give everything up in a moment to save her child and
will willingly give up her own dreams just to watch her sweet, tiny baby
grow up and accomplish theirs.
It has taken 2 years but
I have finally learnt that for every happy, family selfie moment on Instagram,
there are hundred non-happy ones that didn't make the cut. For every toothless
smile there are thousands of tears - and not just baby's. I am certain now that
this is how it is for all mums even the perfect ones that totally have their
shit together.
I am one of them
Insta-mums now. In my Instagram pictures, everyone can see all the joy and
exhilaration in having a perfect angel, but what I really
want is for her to see
all my discarded Instagram pictures, the hundreds and hundreds, and hundreds of
photos of my son trying and failing at so many things just so she knows that
his imperfections are what make him so perfect! That's reality.
"This will change my
life, right?" she said again.
"Yes my friend, but
you will never ever regret it"
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