You & I: the first six months

Molly Whitehead-Jones - 24 Nov 16

The following is quite different in style to anything I’ve posted on Selfish Mother before – in fact, anything I’ve written before… One of those cathartic, outpouring-of-emotion deals, I wrote it nearly a year ago and had actually forgotten all about it until I stumbled across it on my computer a few days ago. Anyway, I hope you like it.

You are six minutes old. I can barely see your face as it’s buried against your dad’s chest, but everyone around me tells me you are fine and beautiful and a boy. I gently grasp onto your tiny, squirming foot, overcome. I want to hold you, but I can’t because I am still cut open and now I am bleeding more than I should be and you are being bundled out of the room and everything feels far away. I am sorry you had to come into the world like this. I hope that it won’t end here, before I get to know you; before I even get to touch you properly. I am a wreck.

You are six hours old. We are alone and I’m so glad that the peace I hoped we’d have during your first moments is finally ours. I have never felt such exhaustion but I am too elated to sleep. I can’t believe that I made you; that you are here. You lay your head against me and we breathe in unison. You have me totally; I am completely yours. I am petrified of what comes next, but more proud of myself and of you than I thought possible. I am a hero.

You are six days old. You have lost too much weight. I can’t nourish you because of my body’s brokenness, and now you are screaming in hunger and the midwife is talking about bottles and taking you back to the hospital. I am so tired and I am panicking. I wish I could clear the fog in my head so I could attempt to decide what’s best for you, but there is no time to think, just act. I dig out the emergency formula and feel a wave of relief wash over both of us as you gulp it down then sink into sleep. I wonder if it gets easier and don’t believe it ever will. I am a failure.

You are six weeks old. You are healthy again and contented and I am so grateful. I recognise what your different cries mean and it feels like we are starting to understand each other a little. I begin to appreciate the enormity of all this; that everything you encounter is new to you, and everything to do with you is new to me. We are both overwhelmed but resolute, and every hour we spend together is a terrifying, testing adventure. I like to watch you and your dad together and reflect on everything we’ve already been through and try not to focus on the many, many challenges to come. I am a survivor.

You are six months old. You are so curious, so strong, so wonderful, and changing all the time. You are finding your way in the world, but you rely on me to guide you; though it’s years away yet, I know that you won’t always need me like you do now, and it makes my heart hurt. You are a handful – two handfuls sometimes – and we have good days and we have awful, fraught days. We weather them together. You laugh with me. You look at me with love. I am a mother.

Molly Whitehead-Jones

Molly Whitehead-Jones is a first-time mum living in Manchester and founder of Mamas Collective, a mums group that offers meetups, workshops & events for savvy, super-cool mamas who love their kids but won’t let motherhood hold them back.

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