Our darling daughter is nine months old, which got me thinking that we've now known her little face for roughly the same amount of time that I was pregnant with her. Add to this train of thought that friends of ours are excitedly awaiting the arrival of their first child, and that our next-door neighbour is due today, and it's no wonder I've taken a trip down pregnancy memory lane.
While I was pregnant, I often wanted to fast forward to being a mum, so I could meet our little one and, yes, say goodbye to the morning sickness and lay on my stomach again. Now with some distance, and after talking to soon-to-be parents, I'm reminded what a special time those nine months are. There are a number of moments I'll always remember, cherish and laugh at myself about.
There is something magical about seeing your growing child via an ultrasound. Our first ultrasound was at around six weeks, and I'll never forget how I felt when I saw that 1.8 cm jellybean-like shape on the screen: vulnerable. Just as mind-blowing were the later ultrasounds, which showed more detail, like the heart beat and those ten little fingers and toes. Similarly, I couldn't wait to feel my baby's first little kicks and hiccups, and share them with hubby when they got stronger. Towards the end of my pregnancy, my baby bump was often lopsided, and sometimes had the odd lump (aka foot) sticking out of it.
My husband and I did take a babymoon of sorts (we combined my birthday celebrations with one of his work trips). We went when I was five months pregnant, which in hindsight was the perfect time to go. My stomach wasn't too big to be uncomfortable, flying wasn't an issue, and I still had enough energy to walk around and be a tourist. Sure, I had to think about what I ate (no sushi or soft cheese), I replaced a birthday cocktail with a birthday mocktail, and I was generally tucked up in bed early, but I also squeezed in a spot of shopping and my last massage until Laura was seven months old (two of the usual things I like to do on holidays). Looking back, it was a great way for us to enjoy some time away together, for the last time as just the two of us.
Choosing names was interesting, especially as we decided to wait to see if we were having a boy or a girl. For a boy, I like strong, masculine names. For a girl, I wanted a name that she could grow with, and that she could introduce herself with in a company board meeting should she choose that route in life. I had a great time reading baby names books and pairing potential first and middle names. We had a boy's name and a girl's name picked out before we arrived at the hospital, although we also agreed if bub really didn't look like a Laura or a Jack, we'd pick another name.
Setting up the nursery was a lot of fun. Our aim was to create a colourful, gender-neutral space, which would also see our child through infancy, childhood and into the teenage years with simply a change of wall hangings and furniture (hubby and I had an ulterior motive: we both really dislike painting walls). It needed to be practical, flexible and fun. I think we've achieved what we set out to do — it's my favourite room in our house. Another fun pregnancy milestone was my baby shower (organised by two of my beautiful girlfriends). A gorgeous day, shared with friends and family; just perfect for a new mummy-to-be.
I've previously alluded to the fact that I like being prepared, and my preparation for my hospital stay was no exception. I did leave what I couldn't plan for to 'whatever happened on the day', but I had my bag packed four weeks before my due date (a helpful tip from a girlfriend was to pack a second set of toiletries so I didn't need to worry about collecting and packing them just before I jumped in the car) and a checklist to make sure I didn't forget anything. I confess I even wrote out our announcement message for friends and family (complete with blanks for name, time and date of birth) days before the event, and made sure we had a contact list for this announcement in hubby's phone. Laugh if you will (I am), but I'd do this all again, as such things were really the last thing on my mind when Laura was born.
One of my more funny-but-true memories was related to my nesting. In the final weeks leading up to my due date, I spring cleaned our house, organised the pantry, scrubbed our fridge and freezer, and folded every item of clothing in my closet and dresser. Hubby mentioned my failure to take things easy and rest to my obstetrician, I explained it was because I wanted to bring bub home to a clean house, and her response was, 'I don't think baby will be any the wiser. Enjoy these last moments where you can put your feet up.'
During my pregnancy, other mums would say to me, 'Enjoy this time, it's so special.' As the weeks went by, when my tummy became my personal herald when I entered a room, when I began to seriously consider trading my entire shoe collection for a single bite of brie, and when my unborn child and I had nightly wrestling matches over whether I would sleep on my left or right side, I admit I began to wonder whether these women had experienced something different. But jokes aside, it really is incredible to know that I made another human being, and that she is connected to me in more ways than I'm aware of. Just as I'll never forget the moment when I first heard my daughter cry, I'll never forget my journey that brought me to that moment.
Wednesday 25 July 2012
Thursday 5 July 2012
The guilt trap
Mother's guilt. It's been striking me an awful lot lately. I'm usually tough on myself anyway, but since becoming a mum my inner critic has scaled new heights. However, let me be clear that my self-judgement is just that — focused on me; I would never hold any other mum out there to the same standards.
Some of the baby care choices I've made occasionally give me a twinge of guilt, but the guilt over these things is fleeting. Cloth nappies versus disposable nappies is a good example. Truthfully, cloth nappies were never an option for our family. When you consider how many nappy changes you do in a day, multiply that by seven days in a week, multiply that by 52 weeks in a year and multiply that by three years, it adds up to a lot of hand rinsing plus machine washing plus drying! I do worry about toxins and nappy rash, and I do feel guilty about adding to landfill, but for me, convenience won.
Then there are the baby care choices that surprised me. I am extremely wary about packaged baby food, and opt to make my own wherever possible. This was a revelation for me. As an adult I indulge in my fair share of packaged food. I don't study the ingredients label on my foods, but when it comes to Laura, I read them carefully. Yes, I do give her packaged stuff (that's been through my vigorous screening process) when we're out and about — a convenience thing again — but at home it's all homemade, so I know exactly what's in it. Despite this, my mother's guilt kicks in when she's consumed a couple of packets over a few days. I mean, how much more work would it really be to put homemade food in a microwave-safe plastic container, take it with me, and find a microwave? Alternatively, I could take a banana, bowl and fork and mash it up for her on the go, couldn't I?
But most of all, my mother's guilt rears its head in a big way when it comes to finding a balance between play time for Laura and mummy time. Now nine months into my thirteen months of maternity leave, I'll admit my mind is craving intellectual stimulation, and the need to achieve something more in an eight-hour period than just a trip to the supermarket.
Once the daily household chores, errands and appointments are completed, I'm left juggling the time I spend on me for me (writing, for example) and the time I spend playing with Laura, teaching her, helping her explore her world and simply enjoying her. Of late, I've been plagued with an extraordinary amount of guilt over my not spending more time teaching her to clap, wave, mimic sounds or push herself up to a sitting position. Over not singing or reading to her as much as I'd like to. Our Baby Clinic nurse and I are in agreement that Laura is a quick study, and while she is developing nicely under my current amount of guidance, she would really lap up and enjoy additional, fun stimulation (and yes, we did agree that although I am the mum and therefore biased, she on the other hand is completely impartial and objective). If I took more time to play with Laura, would her world be enriched? And more importantly, would she be having more fun?
My husband insists that I cram too much into a day. He encourages me to take more time for myself, and to take more time to do fun things with our daughter, although he's also adamant that I am doing an exceptional job when it comes to her, that she is happy, healthy and thriving. So where is my guilt coming from? I've worked out that it boils down to my desire to excel and achieve in all areas of my life. Why can't I be the perfect mother and wife, who takes all the time in the world to care for her little one, while running our household (I am, after all, at home all day), looking after our family and following my own intellectual pursuits? I am a successful editor and project manager in the fast-paced publishing industry where scheduling and being organised is a way of life — my current gig should be a piece of cake!
Babies, however, are unpredictable. Schedules get tossed out the window. A nappy mishap, an early or late morning wake-up, even a bout of hiccups can leave me playing catch-up for the rest of the day. Prioritising becomes a necessity, and some days the blog entry I've been working on for two weeks, or the pile of washing that's been staring at me for a couple of days, sadly wins out over play time. Cue my mother's guilt.
Despite my guilt that suggests the contrary, I truly believe that the more time I take for myself, the better able I will be to take care of Laura. The rational part of my brain says Laura is coming along great with what I've been doing so far. Our Baby Clinic nurse's suggestion was that Laura is at a perfect age to soak up additional teachings, not that I'm not doing enough. Much as I'd like to do less housework, it's a part of life, and one way to look at it is that I'm teaching her a valuable life lesson. Discussions with other mums, newspaper articles and blog entries reveal that I am not alone when it comes to the special kind of guilt only a mother can feel. So I will take comfort in solidarity and will try to give my high-achieving self a break.
Some of the baby care choices I've made occasionally give me a twinge of guilt, but the guilt over these things is fleeting. Cloth nappies versus disposable nappies is a good example. Truthfully, cloth nappies were never an option for our family. When you consider how many nappy changes you do in a day, multiply that by seven days in a week, multiply that by 52 weeks in a year and multiply that by three years, it adds up to a lot of hand rinsing plus machine washing plus drying! I do worry about toxins and nappy rash, and I do feel guilty about adding to landfill, but for me, convenience won.
Then there are the baby care choices that surprised me. I am extremely wary about packaged baby food, and opt to make my own wherever possible. This was a revelation for me. As an adult I indulge in my fair share of packaged food. I don't study the ingredients label on my foods, but when it comes to Laura, I read them carefully. Yes, I do give her packaged stuff (that's been through my vigorous screening process) when we're out and about — a convenience thing again — but at home it's all homemade, so I know exactly what's in it. Despite this, my mother's guilt kicks in when she's consumed a couple of packets over a few days. I mean, how much more work would it really be to put homemade food in a microwave-safe plastic container, take it with me, and find a microwave? Alternatively, I could take a banana, bowl and fork and mash it up for her on the go, couldn't I?
But most of all, my mother's guilt rears its head in a big way when it comes to finding a balance between play time for Laura and mummy time. Now nine months into my thirteen months of maternity leave, I'll admit my mind is craving intellectual stimulation, and the need to achieve something more in an eight-hour period than just a trip to the supermarket.
Once the daily household chores, errands and appointments are completed, I'm left juggling the time I spend on me for me (writing, for example) and the time I spend playing with Laura, teaching her, helping her explore her world and simply enjoying her. Of late, I've been plagued with an extraordinary amount of guilt over my not spending more time teaching her to clap, wave, mimic sounds or push herself up to a sitting position. Over not singing or reading to her as much as I'd like to. Our Baby Clinic nurse and I are in agreement that Laura is a quick study, and while she is developing nicely under my current amount of guidance, she would really lap up and enjoy additional, fun stimulation (and yes, we did agree that although I am the mum and therefore biased, she on the other hand is completely impartial and objective). If I took more time to play with Laura, would her world be enriched? And more importantly, would she be having more fun?
My husband insists that I cram too much into a day. He encourages me to take more time for myself, and to take more time to do fun things with our daughter, although he's also adamant that I am doing an exceptional job when it comes to her, that she is happy, healthy and thriving. So where is my guilt coming from? I've worked out that it boils down to my desire to excel and achieve in all areas of my life. Why can't I be the perfect mother and wife, who takes all the time in the world to care for her little one, while running our household (I am, after all, at home all day), looking after our family and following my own intellectual pursuits? I am a successful editor and project manager in the fast-paced publishing industry where scheduling and being organised is a way of life — my current gig should be a piece of cake!
Babies, however, are unpredictable. Schedules get tossed out the window. A nappy mishap, an early or late morning wake-up, even a bout of hiccups can leave me playing catch-up for the rest of the day. Prioritising becomes a necessity, and some days the blog entry I've been working on for two weeks, or the pile of washing that's been staring at me for a couple of days, sadly wins out over play time. Cue my mother's guilt.
Despite my guilt that suggests the contrary, I truly believe that the more time I take for myself, the better able I will be to take care of Laura. The rational part of my brain says Laura is coming along great with what I've been doing so far. Our Baby Clinic nurse's suggestion was that Laura is at a perfect age to soak up additional teachings, not that I'm not doing enough. Much as I'd like to do less housework, it's a part of life, and one way to look at it is that I'm teaching her a valuable life lesson. Discussions with other mums, newspaper articles and blog entries reveal that I am not alone when it comes to the special kind of guilt only a mother can feel. So I will take comfort in solidarity and will try to give my high-achieving self a break.
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