THE ONLY WAY IS UP

Hatty Hanna - 23 May 14

Motherhood didn’t come easily to me. Strong willed and accustomed to my own space, after the birth of my son Louis I found myself overwhelmed with tiredness, claustrophobia and crushing loneliness. My body turned into a sack of spuds and my hair fell out in clumps. Just like the limited sympathy you get when you’re hungover, this was something I had brought entirely upon myself but on a day to day basis I felt barely able to cope.

With no family nearby, I was left alone with this howling baby whose needs I would diligently service until my husband returned after a day’s work. If he dared turn up ten minutes late he would be met with a barrage of increasingly desperate texts from a flustered, teary wife. The boy would be handed over and I would crumple in a heap apologising through my sobs that there was nothing for tea.

We existed on takeaways, surrounded by filth and clutter. Even when a cleaner was suggested I didn’t feel I could even tidy up for one. I soon became embittered by the frustration of being stuck at home all day surrounded by chores I didn’t have time to do, symbolic of my failure as a whole. I missed being able to shower, eat and sleep when I wanted to. With less and less contact with the real world my self esteem plummeted.

As the days would draw to a conclusion, I dreaded the long nights ahead. I staggered downstairs two maybe three times every night, to sit for an hour at a time rocking like a patient in an asylum as my little one took his feed. When the dawn chorus started at 4:45am, Louis would join in too and I would have to accept the grim reality that I would be up for the day, no matter how queasy I felt or however much my eyelids burned.

Instead of extolling the joys of motherhood, I felt like I was rehabilitating from some ghastly accident. The days would slip away and my to do list remained undone, smothered in a blanket of tedium. I ricocheted between resentment and guilt for not embracing this new and strange routine I found myself in, and both niggled away at me leaving me unhappy and numb.

In an effort to get out and regain contact with the wider world, we visited various baby groups in musty smelling church halls, but I struggled to make genuine friendships. It all seemed so forced and peculiar, rather like turning up at an AA meeting and trying to be friends with someone who also has brown hair.

It was also worlds away from my former life as a DJ, when I pretty much socialised for a living. I went from glittering social butterfly to someone who struggled to converse about breast pads over a chipped mug of tepid milky tea.

I look back on those dark times with a mix of relief and sadness. Sadness because I recognise now in hindsight that I was probably suffering from a mild case of PND and I should have got some support. I might have enjoyed those precious moments with my newborn more, and been able to go with the flow instead of fighting it.

Relief because, as people assured me and I can now confirm, it got a lot easier. Not just that, but I got better at it. It’s funny how things change while at the same time they seem utterly monotonous.

My fuzzy headed baby is long gone and in his place is a willful toddler with thoughts and opinions of his own, and a wonderful sense of fun. Louis teaches me to look at the world afresh through innocent eyes and it’s both exhilarating and wonderful. I love the fact that our days are spent together digging up worms and spotting planes in the sky. I love watching him evolve into his own little person.

I still spend a disproportionately large amount of time scraping trodden-in Babybel coatings off my Heals rug, and each time I put on my ‘nice’ coat I find decomposing teddy biscuits in the pockets, but I’m strangely in love with it, I’ve found my peace, and knowing what I know now I think I might even choose to do it again.

Hatty Hanna

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