Diary of a Working Mum

For the first few days following the birth of my daughter, I was in a newborn bubble. I was busy changing nappies, drowning in laundry and spent most of the time stood at the prep machine. I didn’t even know if it was night or day.

Venturing out had not even entered my mind. I had been so consumed in the endless cycle of caring for my baby, I had forgotten that the outside world existed. That was until my friend messaged me, asking me to meet up in a local café. I hesitated before replying, but then a glimmer of motivation swept over me and I quickly replied and agreed to meet.

Realising I needed to take my medication, I pulled up at the local shop to get a drink. Keys in hand, I opened the car door, then froze. The baby. I couldn’t just get out of the car and go. There was a car seat to unbuckle, a baby to risk waking up, the changing bag to grab, the pram to unfold. I questioned whether I should just carry her instead. The weight and restrictiveness of motherhood hit me like a lead weight. A simple five minute trip suddenly felt like an impossible logistical puzzle. I realised that parenthood is a tether. Not in a negative way, but in a profoundly sobering way.

I realised that every move I make now revolves around this tiny human that I created. Spontaneity- the carefree moments of “I’ll just nip to the shop”- are long gone. Instead, these moments had been replaced with the need for planning, preparing and prioritising my day, something I had never done before motherhood. It was pretty difficult for me to accept in that moment that it is no longer just about me.

Although it was a stark realisation in the moment, it was also an awakening. I love my daughter more than life itself, however I was not prepared for how motherhood would rob me of my freedom in ways I never anticipated. Every quick errand becomes a mission as a new parent.

But when I got my daughter out of her car seat, and saw her sleepy, tiny face, I knew that it was all worth it. She was now my anchor, grounding me in a splendid love that I never knew possible.

Even showering became a military operation. Inbetween the messy nappies, the crying fits and the feeding, I always managed to find time to get myself showered. Long gone were the days of long, luxurious showers, with dimly lit candles and soft music. This had been replaced with terrible artificial lighting, with my daughter in her bouncer chair on the floor, hysterically crying whilst I rushed to get washed. Her cries were briefly interrupted by the dog barking irrationally at the water. It was complete sensory overwhelm, and left me feeling worn out, depressed and nothing like my old self.

But somehow, looking at my daughter made everything worth while. Although I was a shadow of my former self when she was a newborn, and although I looked like I had been dragged through a hedge backwards and was surviving on coffee and hope, I would not have had it any other way.

Cheerio

E x