Chloe Forfitt: New Mum
‘When you’re 30, shall we make a little one of us,’ my boyfriend drunkenly whispered. ‘Are you mental?’ I replied. Turning 31 four days ago, feeling more tired than I did at 30, but less tired than I did last week – hurrah, I reflect upon the 7 week old little one of us. I’m snatching half an hour as my little one has just gone to sleep. My partner will be home in 30 minutes and I want to tell him how much I appreciate him, how sorry I am that I seem to have changed beyond all recognition, that I have no attention for him, no kind words, no love left on a daily basis that will stretch to hold him too. We’ll see how that goes.
In seven weeks I have become a different person. In truth when I walked through the door, home from hospital I couldn’t believe the flat was unchanged. There was still ice on the ground. In fact, how was it that people on our street appeared to be going about their daily business as usual. I don’t know what I expected. For them to form a chorus line and welcome me into my new life with high kicks and a song like in an old film. Or just to stare, wide-eyed at this new miracle that had somehow made it into our lives, via my vagina. The insanity of that fact still grabs me at odd moments. I’m still being asked what the birth was like. I find myself saying ‘oh yes, it was fine, all good.’ Apart from the ring of fire. I’ll never listen to Johnny Cash the same way again.
I feel incredibly lucky that I was able to have such a good birth. The post-natal bit though, that’s a different story. Is it a secret, a horror that shall remain unspoken until you’ve got the baby out? Obviously we couldn’t tell you when you were pregnant. Why the hell not?! It’s not like I could hold her in. We all live in our disconnected social bubbles, where mothers occupy a separate realm, just as old people and teenagers have theirs. Now I crave community, not just companionship of other mothers with babies though that is imperative, but mothers who have older children, teens who may be considering procreation, grandmothers who have the wisdom of age and do not necessarily have first grandchild syndrome. They just want to hold the baby. Oh, for someone to come round and hold the baby.
This is something I cannot criticise my partner for. He’s very good at holding the baby. Just about everything else though I can have a good old whinge about. I had no idea our relationship would change so much. We are now like co-carers who live together. We discuss the needs of our little one and try to organise eating, sleeping, feeding, changing, dressing, fairly and without rattiness. As for the drinking, bonking, decadent weekends, lying loving, all those random snogs, hugs – where did they go? Will there ever be the possibility that I can get enough energy back to be sexy, friendly… civil? Our new relationship with this being who remains psychologically and emotionally part of me takes all my energy to sustain. I know I must leave the house each day to remain my sanity, I know I must tend to her every need. I already feel guilty that I am not stimulating her enough, that I should be doing more.
The other day I had a few cups of special Neals Yard post-natal tea my friend had sent me: Lavender, St Johns Wart and Callendula. After a while I called my friend to ask her if she’d tried some of this brew as I felt really good but a bit lethargic and Elkie had been asleep for rather a long time…
‘You’re not supposed to drink it’ she shrieked down the phone, ‘you’re supposed to sit in it!’ which I’d say is a waste as Elkie and I had a lovely afternoon, giggling. I even got some housework done. I can now see why housewives in the past were addicted to valium.
