Take or Leave Tiny Babies?

Molly Gunn - 19 Nov 16

On Christmas Day I felt like things were on the up. It wasn’t to do with the Whistles vouchers I was given, or the fact that I drank copious amounts of Prosecco (although who am I kidding… it helped). It was that my son Max had reached the illustrious heights of being 6-months-old.

Of course, nobody actually celebrated this half-year achievement: it was commented on and then forgotten… by everyone except me.

Inside I celebrated. Big time. I did imaginary cartwheels. Virtual high fives. I had a little inner party, because finally Max had reached the giddy age of 6-months and the really-baby stage was OVER. Hooray.

I finally saw the wood for the trees. I came out of the other side. I saw clear skies ahead… whatever other cliché phrase we choose for it: I felt like the road was going to be less rocky from here on in.

Some people LOVE newborns. A close friend who has just had her third absolutely loves the tiny-baby stage, so much that it makes me feel slightly jealous. Why don’t I love it like that?

I didn’t love the very-baby-stage, first time with Rafferty, or second time around with Max. Thankfully, I loved the babies – but for me it was more about the EXPECTATION of what they were about to become.

Luckily, they weren’t actually tricky; they just did the usual stuff that babies do. But the months of compete dependency, I found pretty damn hard. From being zombiefied through lack of sleep, to feeling like a feeding-machine, to the endless cycle of routine, the wayward emotions, the knackerdness, the feeling like it wasn’t EVER going to end.

With Max, I’m sure some of this was to do with my inability to sit still and take a decent maternity leave. To take the time to focus on and really enjoy it. Ploughing on with work and life regardless; from moving house to launching this very site. Much of it done with the baby strapped into a papoose (it seemed a good idea at the time).

But arriving at 6 months felt like a line in the sand. A designated marker. The foggy new-mum haze that had hung over me started to lift, and all those early-baby irks seemed to be on their way out. I was now as close to Max being a one-year-old as I was to the day I gave birth. And this milestone signified that he and I were moving on to pastures new.

We were moving away from times when he’d cry and I didn’t know why. Or when he was so fragile I couldn’t leave him alone with Raff. Or when he’d sick over my 3rd clean outfit of the day. Or when he’d refuse to take milk from a bottle. Or feed for anyone else. Or wake up every other hour during the night. Or, or, or….

Instead, we’d arrived at good times. When Max could sit up on his own. He could eat actual food. He could amuse himself a little. Cry for a fathomable reason. Gurgle and babble charmingly. He was more robust. Sturdy to hold. He could laugh at things. And, you know.. join in. He could sit in a highchair unaided. When – fingers crossed – he might finally sleep through (still not mastered that one but I think we’re close).

Knowing all this made me feel instantly BETTER. Not to mention that I knew what his cries meant. How to soothe him. I could handle his routine. I was getting to know HIM. And as a result I felt less shackled. Freer. More energetic. More confident. More ready-for-anything. More like – to use another trite phrase – the OLD ME.

Now, as I write this exactly a month later and as he’s arrived at – ooh a whole 7-months (!) he is seeming all the more cute on a daily basis. We’ve done the probationary period, and I guess now we’re really starting to connect. I’ve realised I’m no longer thinking of him as ‘the baby’ but more as… well…. Max.

I may not love the tiny-baby stage. But what I LOVE is this 6-month-plus, heading-towards-one stage, because that’s when they start to reveal the little dudes that they’re going to become. And THAT’S what I find really exciting.

Read other posts by Molly Gunn here

Molly Gunn

Molly Gunn is the Curator of Goodness at Selfish Mother, a site she created for likeminded women in 2013. Molly has been a journalist for over 15 years, starting out on fashion desks at The Guardian, The Telegraph & ES Magazine before going freelance in 2006 to write for publications including Red, Stella, Grazia, Net-A-Porter and ELLE. She now edits Selfish Mother and creates #GoodTees which are sold via TheFMLYStore.com and John Lewis and have so far raised £650K for charity. Molly is mother to Rafferty, 5, Fox, 3 and baby Liberty. Molly is married to Tom, aka music producer Tee Mango and founder of Millionhands. They live, work and play in Somerset.

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