Feeling the pressure...

I am a 29 year old wife to W and mummy of a 3 year old son, Little S and 11 mth old daughter, Baby B. I started writing my blog, clareybabbling , to keep a record of what my children get up to and to generally inflict my life story on the blogging world. It's good therapy too. Find @clareybabble on Twitter.
 
I’ve been reading with great interest lots of posts recently about the choices Mums (and Dads) have to make once that little blue line shows up. Once the first few weeks of joy (or disbelief, or however you feel!) has passed, parents-to-be are faced with the daunting prospect of making often life changing decisions. It starts with decisions like how healthily will I eat during pregnancy (when all you want is chocolate) and what maternity clothes shall I wear (ummm can I afford a whole new wardrobe that will only last a few months?) to where should I give birth and (the big one…) should I breastfeed?
 
When I got pregnant with Little S, I was over the moon. But I was also a little scared at the prospect of a) pushing an actual human being out of me and b) actually looking after another human being, who totally relies on me for EVERYTHING. I suddenly found myself bombarded with information from all angles which of course I was grateful for, but also a bit overwhelmed by. I bought some baby magazines and joined lots of baby clubs. Every page I turned told me something new, exciting, scary and sometimes contradictory. That’s when I started to feel the pressure. Magazines filled with gorgeous, skinny pregnant beauties with not a stretch mark in sight. 100 different products to use on your skin and then your baby’s. 1000 different products to make your pregnancy easier. Ok I’m exaggerating but you get the picture. I didn’t know whether to have a crib or cot, nursing chair, sling, travel system, the list seemed endless. Everyone I spoke to had different experiences and opinions. I struggled, hoping I made the right choices.
 
Nearly every mum I met seemed keen to tell me their birth story, ranging from the truly horrific to the ‘cough and it’s out’ birth that I was hoping for. I suddenly realised that I would be judged (subconsciously or otherwise) by the scans I have, birth I have, pain relief and length of labour. A chat in the office turns into a catfight over who suffered from more piles or who had the most natural birth.
 
I thought I did everything right. I still exercised, ate healthily, attended all my appointments and did antenatal classes. But none of it prepared me for what lay ahead. I found myself having a distorted view of how motherhood would be. I always imagined having a huge group of mummy friends, a perfect baby (because of course I’ve got all these books telling me exactly what to do) and I promised myself there would be no TV, no dummies and no unhealthy food in the house. How wrong I was!
 
Don’t get me wrong, by no means did I ever think that parenthood wouldn’t be hard. I knew there would be sleepless nights and endless nappies, but I somehow thought it would be manageable. That all those magazines and books would tell me exactly what to do and what rules to follow. I used to watch soaps and see Mums with new babies who are forever in the cot, only waking for either a feed or nappy change, with the mum knowing instantly what their baby needed. Hardly ever because the baby just wanted a bit of attention, or had a bit of colic. If they did, the mum would talk to Dot in the launderette and suddenly know exactly what to do with their baby!! Hardly realistic.
 
I borrowed a tens machine which I thought would easily get me through labour. It didn’t. After a few nights of contractions here and there, I went into labour on Friday morning. I had a bath, because of course that’s what you do. It didn’t help. I put the tens machine on but I needed it on high straight away. After a few hours at hospital I gave up and went onto gas and air. Because my birth plan says NATURAL BIRTH. My Mum had me with gas and air, why shouldn’t I be the same? I tried the birthing pool but my blood pressure dropped so I had to get out. After much chatting with my very supporting midwife I decided, rather guiltily, on an epidural. But what would people think? All those smug ‘my contractions didn’t really hurt’ mums who I wanted to kill?! I don’t know why I thought it would all be straightforward.
 
I remember lying in bed with S snuggled in against me, hearing a woman who had literally just given birth saying she wanted to go home. ‘This is my third, I don’t need to stay here…nope I’m bottle feeding, no breast feeding for me…’ I laid there wanting to cry. How could anyone go through this more than once I wanted to scream. I wanted to stay in hospital forever at that point!
 
Despite everything I read, I found myself asking for help with every nappy change. I kept the curtains closed and didn’t eat until one midwife noticed and brought me some dinner. I even got W to sneak me in some McDonalds! I wanted to sleep but S was constantly up. I was exhausted by the time we left but deliriously happy with my gorgeous little bundle. Such a mixture of feelings, I didn’t know what to think. The first night we were home, we put S to bed and put the baby monitor on. Pointless. Our house is tiny! We could hear every noise anyway. Within minutes he was up and that’s how it was for the first few nights. He didn’t want to sleep in his cot and ended up in bed with us. I hadn’t heard of co-sleeping. Babies sleep in a cot either in the parent’s bedroom or in a nursery don’t they? I was forcing myself to go against my maternal instinct because I felt like I should follow the supposed norm.
 
Eventually, like most parents, we fell into a pattern and S ended up in his cot. I breastfed, which was hard for the first few weeks but I persevered. I can see how women give up, but luckily I had lots of support. S fed constantly. He was a high maintenance baby! The midwives in hospital had suggested feeding lying down but I found it uncomfortable and couldn’t sleep. I wanted him in our bed but it didn’t work. I felt guilty constantly because I felt I was doing everything wrong.
 
I was asked to go along to a new parents group, but how could I because S fed so much, how could I possibly feed him (which was sometimes a bit of a struggle) with everyone looking at me and judging? I ended up almost constantly at home, only venturing out once or twice a week to see my parents or a couple of friends. It was isolating and scary.
 
I bought Mother and Baby mags. There were a million different ways to get baby to sleep. I should be reading to baby all the time and playing. But I was knackered! It was hard enough to get through the day without falling asleep! But I thought I should be awake doing everything right.
 
I had lots of support from friends and family. But I still thought I was failing, and still do sometimes. I was supposed to be a yummy mummy with a perfect house and baby. Not sat there with sick on my shoulder and unwashed hair! Motherhood was a complete minefield for me.
 
Of course it got better in time. We got through so much with S, even getting him to fall asleep without me (because he should be able to fall asleep on his own, not on the breast, that’s what the books say!) and in the recent few years, speech therapy and the possibility he may be autistic. But the whole time we’ve been faced with choices, many that were difficult to make. Like returning to work and choosing a childminder. That was a huge thing for us. The only family near us are my parents and siblings, who all needed to work too. Some people I knew (not closely) frowned upon the mother who returned to work and didn’t look after her kids. Why have them when you can’t look after them? I’d hear this over and over in my head whilst phoning childminders. The guilt was still there in the back of mind. But I went back to work and we all coped fine. S is shy but quite confident. He doesn’t hate me for leaving him. He is OK!!
 
I vowed to do some things differently when I got pregnant with Baby B. After a year of little sleep with S I knew that this would be the first thing I tackled. I had learned from my experiences. It turned out that B didn’t really like to be cuddled and fussed when going to sleep. She quickly learned to fall asleep by herself with a dummy and teddy. She didn’t have the same dependency that Little S had on my milk, but I intend to breastfeed for as long as she wants it. She’s a different person with a different personality and I found myself realising that I shouldn’t feel guilty any more. That I should go with my instinct. Who cares if it’s wrong or right in the eyes of complete strangers who don’t know me or my family or our way of doing things?
 
I consider myself an attachment parent of sorts, even though I don’t co-sleep or baby wear. I respond to my children when they’re upset and discipline them when they’re naughty. I praise them at every opportunity and teach them everything they need or want to know. But I also give them the opportunity to experience new things and work things out for themselves. It works for us and that is what is important. Our family is happy and close knit. Not perfect by a long shot, but which family is?
 
Sorry, I realise I’ve rambled on quite a bit and probably scared every pregnant mum reading this! What I want to say is expect the unexpected, go with your instinct and trust in yourself to do right by your children. Read every book and talk to every friend, but weigh it all up and choose what is right for you and your family. It’s totally unrealistic for me to say don’t feel guilty because it goes with the territory.
 
Just please don’t beat yourself up for the choices you make.
 
:)

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