Living In The Dark

Lindsay Lees Baxter - 25 Oct 15

I’m typing this from my usual spot, contorted and in complete darkness, illuminated by the light of my phone. My breast is hanging out of my t-shirt, and I can feel my baby’s drool trickling down my side as her chest rises and falls. My arse is flat and numb, my stomach rumbling with hunger, and my nipple soggy. This is how I spend 90% of my time, and have done for the past ten months.

It takes place three times, sometimes four a day, and the duration can be anywhere between 40mins and three hours. This is because we have a daughter who won’t sleep anywhere but in her darkened bedroom, in my arms, on my left boob. Yes that’s right, as well as only sleeping in her room in the dark with a white noise app playing, sucking the life out of me, literally, she will only feed from one side. The left side of my body looks very peculiar, with a Popeye sized arm and huge boob, while the other side is looking sad and withered from lack of use or purpose.

It’s a mystery to myself or my partner as to how we got here. How did we create this awful situation? We are well aware it’s our own doing, finding ourselves asking the question, ‘Where did we go wrong?’ She’s only just turned ten months, how could we have screwed up already! Chained to the darkness, rocking back and forth to womb noise or mountain river, or if we’re feeling chipper, fan noise, day and night. Kicking ourselves for making her bedroom too quiet and too comfortable, for rocking her every time and for always cradling her, reluctant to ever let her cry it out.

When she finally wakes, I emerge mole like from the darkness. Flailing around on numb limbs, I hurriedly attempt to get us both dressed, desperate to catch some much needed social interaction and vitamin D. I look on enviously at other mums, pushing their buggies, gabbing to one another, oblivious to at which point their little one actually nodded off. Or sitting in noisy cafes, coffee machines clanging away, their little ones floppy with sleep, heads lolling to one side, napping blissfully. Mean while I traipse myself back to the prison that is my home, exercise time over, back to my darkened cell.

Of course I’ve tried to break this god awful cycle. A stubborn attitude and cast iron will isn’t something my daughter gained from her father. I’ve persevered, pounding the pavements, determined that she will sleep on the go, and I can lead some kind of semi normal existence. And yes, on the odd occasion she has caved in and slept a whole thirty minutes. Although, it was hard to revel in my victory when it had taken an hour and a half to achieve, countless comments and stares at the raging red demon thrashing around in her pram, and tears welling up in my own eyes on the forth lap of the park. Now all I had to do was repeat that two more times that day, and for the rest of the week. Sure.

Upon the advice of others we have tried allowing her to cry it out, baby massage, bottles feeds, calming oil, comfort blankets and so on. None of which brought any relief to our situation.

Burnt out from the whole experience, I have surrendered myself to the fact that I now live in the dark. It may be a year, it may take longer, please god don’t let it be any longer, but right now I need to do what’s best for my daughter, and that is, to allow her to sleep. If she needs darkness and a cuddle from her mum to help her drift off, then that is surely the least I can do. She will only be a baby once and every moment is precious.

Life can go on hold and everything else can wait. Besides, I can use the time productively. I could meditate, make a Christmas card list, mentally recite the seven times table, or Google, ‘how to get your baby to sleep in a cot’ for the millionth time.

Lindsay Lees Baxter

Lindsay has a background in design and has worked in fashion, tv and film. She lives in North Berwick, and owns a bakery with her husband. She is a first time mum to Lois, aka LoLo Bean.

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