Marva's blog: Me & You - Part 2

Can there ever be too much of a good thing? I ask myself.  I decide “yes”, as I stand at the window, staring down at the leafy cul-de-sac formed of tidy, well kept homes and manicured front lawns with the latest car in the drive. 

It is deathly quiet, apart from the occasional chirp of a bird or car going by, even though it is almost midday. 

I am a Londoner, born and bred, so being here, in Hertfordshire, the clean, fresh air assaulting my lungs, is a departure from the norm.  My partner’s sister and her husband have kindly opened their home to us, whilst we are looking for our own, and having just brought the baby home, along with my partner going back to work, I have a challenging road ahead.

I’d been discharged from the hospital after 4 days, when it was deemed that both baby and I had recovered sufficiently from the emergency caesarean section, and although I was recovering physically quite well, my emotions were all over the place.  I really hadn’t expected to meet my son so soon, however, he is here.   And we are here.  In a town that I am unfamiliar with, and very far away from my family and friends and no ready support network.  I already feel overwhelmed.

We are mostly alone between the hours of 7am and 7pm, when everyone gets home, unless I have a health check with the midwife, where I duly plaster on a smile and say that everything is “fine” although I feel a familiar panic rising in my chest.  The baby is doing well, but we are both struggling with breastfeeding – he with latching on, and me with being able to connect with him properly. I am a failure.  I try half-heartedly for a few weeks, but eventually give up and embrace the convenience and shared responsibility of bottle feeding, although I end up doing all of the feeds anyway as dad “has to go to work in the morning”.

Most of the parenting leaflets not-so-helpfully tell me that I should sleep whilst the baby is sleeping, but then who will do the laundry, cooking, feeds and changes whilst I am I bounce along in the luxury of dreamland? My partner comes home at the end of a particularly sleepless day, to find me in tears, unwashed & exhausted. The baby gurgles happily.  Other people also very thoughtfully tell me that “if you love the baby you would…” more times than is polite.  Once is enough quite frankly.

I mention tentatively to a much older family member that I am finding things “too much” and I am told that this is motherhood and to get on with it, other women have done it, and not crumbled haven’t they? The harsh comments and pressure burn into my soul, but I am young and inexperienced and stay silent.

To pass the long days, I bundle my winter baby up nice and snug in his pushchair, the plastic cover a sufficient defence against the wind, and we walk up to the Galleria, a shopping complex, mostly made up of pot pourri shops and old lady things.  At least we are out of the house.

It is another few months until we move back to London, and  I am relieved to get back to being a relatively short bus or train ride away from those who I can truly open up to, and perhaps even start to enjoy being a mother.

The beginning.

 ** If this is something you’re going through, give yourself and your little one time, and try to be brave in expressing your needs. Also, if you need help and feel like you’re drowning inside, throw yourself a life-raft and let your midwife, partner or someone else that you trust know.  It will work out in the end.

Marva is single parent of a 14 year old boy. She has worked in the City for 18 years and is currently a Financial Operations Team Leader for a Global Investment Manager.

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• Families