One month in already and time has gone by in a blur. My baby is not my little puffy newborn anymore, his squishy face now perfect, tiny features that I spend a significant portion of my day staring at. He’s already outgrown some of his newborn clothes, and I find my arms starting to ache in the afternoon after hours of carrying and rocking my 4.7kg boy.
This is really the first time I’ve sat down and consciously reflected on the first month postpartum. Honestly, it’s looked nothing like I imagined it would. It hasn’t been better, or worse – just different. I’ve heard people talk about the newborn bubble, but to me it’s felt more like a haze; a month long blur of feeding, changing, rocking, cuddling, broken sleep, tears and overwhelming love. Before I had my own baby I didn’t quite imagine that it would be so full on (I mean, duh, right?). I hate to admit it, but I pictured a maternity leave filled with cute mom-and-baby outings, walks along the beachfront on a Saturday morning, coffee and snuggles in bed, baking while Travis napped. There was a lot more free time in my daydreams, and a lot more of the sense of self I had pre-baby.
But alas, my sense of self has been altered and reality has given me a new found respect for mothers. The first month with a newborn has been demanding. It’s demanded that I release my ever-burning need to be “productive” and lean into a far slower pace of life, where an hour can so easily pass by with me doing nothing but bouncing Travis, trying to coax him to sleep. It’s demanded that I be okay with the sum total of my achievements for the day being that I looked after my baby, and got myself dressed, fed and maybe managed an hour or so to have a coffee outside in the sunshine. This month has demanded my full self, all of my hours, half of my nightly sleep, and all of the strength I have in these arms to hold, rock, bounce and sway for hours on end. It’s demanded my body to be sacrificed for my child, not only to grow and birth him, but also to feed him, soothe him and care for him 24 hours a day. It’s asked my mind to accept how limited life can sometimes feel as a result. It’s demanded every ounce of patience, grace and kindness I can muster, towards myself but also towards my baby and husband. It’s demanded that I release any set of expectations I had before, and whatever I held onto for my sense of purpose, accepting that for now my sole purpose is my child.
There are countless days where I spend all day on the couch watching Netflix, not because that’s what I feel like doing but because I’m needing to feed Travis for 30 minutes every hour and a half, followed by him falling asleep in my arms and waking up every time I try put him down. Never have I appreciated a cup of coffee more in my life, nor being able to wrap both my arms around Kyle for a hug. Time to myself is so incredibly precious that now when I do get an hour here or there I feel so overwhelmed, the list of things I want to do being so long. But in the end the time is spent doing the things that need to be done – making myself lunch, putting a load of washing in, tidying the house a bit. And as I start doing what I want to do, time is up and the change-feed-burp-sleep cycle begins again.
I thought that the first weeks postpartum would be limiting because of my c-section, but the truth is that the first weeks, perhaps even months, are limiting because you’re a new mother with a newborn baby. Life immediately starts working on a two or three hour rotation revolving around feeding. Breastfeeding is all-consuming and tricky to do in public or in inconvenient locations, so staying home is often easier. There is no schedule or routine anymore, life happens as your baby demands it, and so planning anything in is tricky. The days can melt into one and sometimes be lonely, or exhausting, or repetitive, or all three in one. But days can also be beautiful, slow, wonderous and full of pinch-me moments.
I’m still getting to know this new version of myself, the mother. She’s still somewhat foreign to me. Just as I’m slowly learning what Travis’ different cries mean, learning the ever-changing curves of his face, so too am I still learning who I now am. I miss my old self and I’m not ashamed to admit that. I love this new life, and this new little person, but at the same time I’m mourning my old life and who I was in it. After all, it was a life I loved enough to want to give to another human being. I miss how easy and simple it all was. I miss being able to jump in the car and go out without a second thought. I miss being able to do what I want when I wanted to do it. I miss sleeping 9 hours a night. But I love the little sounds Travis makes when he’s nursing. I love the little smile that plays on his lips accidentally. I love how he smells, and how he holds my finger with his tiny, fat hand. I love him and every day am so wildly grateful that I get to be here with him. And I know soon I’ll love this new life more than any other version of life I could have lived.
Although this past month has seen my world become incredibly small as it rotates around my son, it’s become significantly bigger because I now have a son. Part of me longs for the adventures and freedom I see others having as I scroll through Instagram at 2am doing yet another feed. Part of me grieves for what we as mothers give up in order to have children. But then the rest of me wouldn’t trade this for the world; holding a manifestation of pure love in my arms that was gifted to us by life. I watch his perfect little face squashed into me as he sleeps against my chest and it sinks in that this might be the greatest adventure yet.
The first month has been a moment in time, one that I am all too aware is so fleeting. Already I mourn for my newborn that I held in the hospital an hour after giving birth. I know tomorrow I will mourn for who he was today, because everyday that passes he is the smallest he will ever be again whilst at the same time being the biggest he’s ever been.
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