I Am in Love with My Baby

It is here finally. So true, so strong, so simple and effortless. Nothing in return, this is it. My love for my baby. Oh, how powerful are the feelings in my head! His single smile worth every effort. His beautiful smile…

The love has found me now. I can say it, whisper it, shout it to the world. I LOVE my baby! There are no expectations, just happiness to spend time together. To hold Him and care for Him. Complete and unconditional. Love. Everything about Him is perfect. He is clever, funny and handsome. I could go on forever. Intelligent… His little feet kick about with pleasure. A true sportsman.

Our relationship is simple. He demands, I supply. Often based on trial and error, we find our way. His curiosity increasing daily, adding to the challenge. I am still learning.

At night He wakes me but I’ve learned to cherish the sleepy minutes in the dark. Just Him and me. Together. The day will come when He will not need me anymore and I already miss Him.

Do not grow little baby, stay mine forever.

Sylvia's Choice

A few weeks ago I was listening to a Jeremy Vine’s show. One of the topics was women’s sterilisation. The main guest was a girl that is trying to get sterilised on the NHS. Let’s pretend her name is Sylvia.

Sylvia is 29. She is a career oriented high achiever that is certain that she will never want to have children. Not now, not EVER!!! She is currently on the pill but finds it such a hardship to swallow it EVERY day. She has asked her GP on four different occasions to prescribe the sterilisation procedure but was refused… mercilessly. The rules for female sterilisation in UK are completely discretionary and depend on the doctor. Most likely, however, it is to be prescribed to women who are above thirty years old and have had children before. 

Listening to Sylvia pisses me off. First off all: why is this transmitted on a national radio? Do we not have any more pressing issues to discuss? I admit the situation sounds familiar. The pregnancy and breastfeeding were not my idea of fun at 29. And if you told me I was ever going to be a mother I would LOL straight into your face. But did I ever publicly look for sympathy? No, because here’s an interesting fact – nobody gives a monkey.

Taking a pill is not difficult, thousands of us do it. We are just very lucky that it is free in this country. But if you don’t trust the pill (or yourself) get a coil (effective for 5 years but can be taken out anytime), or an implant (3 years effectiveness and you don’t even get periods), or a vaginal ring. There are so many choices before you decide on an invasive (often irreversible) procedure that still has 1 in 200 failure rate. Just man up, do your research and don’t brag about it.

Then there is Sylvia’s attitude. Opinionated and fast spoken, well-rehearsed youth that “knows it all”. She KNOWS. For CERTAIN.  The doctors are stupid, everybody else is stupid. I am just about to change the channel when Sylvia (intentionally or not) slips an interesting life fact: her own mum was sterilised at a young age, before she had any children. Now, this is intriguing. So where did Sylvia come from? I listen carefully and finally it makes sense. After she’d changed her mind about NOT wanting to have children, Sylvia’s mum had a reversal procedure done. Now, isn’t it just a bit too much to make a statement?

Is it possible that history repeats itself?

Who’s that girl?

I used to be many things. I used to be an accountant, a work colleague, a photographer, a traveller, a reader. I used to be able to hold an interesting conversation, look presentable, have time for friends. I used to know what is happening in the world, have my views and opinions.

So what on earth has happened to me!?

Nowadays I thrive on burps and belches, and look forward to poops in the nappy. Today my biggest  challenge is to find an outfit to put on in the morning. (Not my outfit, oh no! I wear the same jumper every day. I am talking about the “little monkey” body suits for my son.) There is an extra person attached to me all the time and one of my arms has transformed into a vacuum cleaner. I respond to all cries, shouts, pitches and laughs, dropping everything and anything I am in the process of doing. My little prince has taken over my life and at two months old He’s got me completely re-trained. As a Mother. I am His pillow and His punch bag. I can’t remember what it’s like not to have back ache.

When my husband comes back from work, he asks me about my day. I hate those questions. It is deeply embarrassing when the biggest achievement of your day is dinner served on time. Not burned... When he tells me about exciting new deals and challenges at work, I desperately try to make the midwife’s visit exciting. Oh yes, we talked about nipples. While he puts a nice clean shirt on every morning, I realise that mine permanently smells of vomit.

 

The most frightening of all is when he asks me an opinion. To avoid the answer I stuff my mouth with so much food that I can’t talk anymore. Which doesn’t really  matter because, whether I talk or not, I am a conversation killer.

However, naively or not, I still refuse to believe that having a child has changed me. I am sure that the things that used to define me have not disappeared. Hopefully they are just hiding in the shadows of the changing environment. And, even if it feels like I have donated my brain to the child, I hope that one day I will be able to spell “coleegue” again.