I did not have a clear picture of what being a mother would look like. All I remember is demanding a baby from God after the desire had set in and months and months of disappointment passed. There is no doubt that more could have been done but I only sought professional advice and implemented a series of intentional steps in the second year of trying. Nothing worked though. We eventually had Phoebe naturally and I am incredibly thankful it happened that way. All efforts put into getting pregnant were contrived and felt as if I were playing God. I grew bitter in that season. My emotions were not kept in check and I became consumed with turning the want into reality so that the questions and comments would stop, so that I could feel a new level of acceptance and be part of that other group - the inner circle of young mums.
Fast track to 2013 and it has finally taken place. The news came as such a surprise that I did not dare believe it. I held that pink and white pee stick and stared rather numbly at the two lines. The second one was so faded it could have been in my imagination. "Is this real? God, is this real?" I finally let a smile in and texted Fab. I quickly rang the fertility clinic to schedule a blood test. When I crossed that hurdle, I booked in for a scan with the specialist. It began to make sense. I was overly emotional. I was late. I felt queasy all week and had an upset stomach (to be fair, I did have food poisoning at the start). I was getting flabby around the middle. And then my lunch presented itself a second time on the weekend after I got a positive on the bloodwork. Monday could not have come sooner and then there it was. The black screen flickered and we saw our baby for the first time. I couldn't quite tell the feotus apart from some other shapes and shades but it didn't matter. We heard the heartbeat and my obstetrician said all looked great. I am pretty sure I was holding my breath until then from the second the ultrasound machine clicked on. Nothing could have prepared me for the ride ahead though.
I am not one for amusement parks. I hate (read: ABSOLUTELY DETEST) rides. I suffer from motion sickness and the dropping sensation makes me panic and feel awful inside. I wish I wasn't like this and that I could call it fun. Well, pregnancy was like being on an endless ride (the kind even a thrill-seeking fanatic would get ill on). It felt like I had tumbled off a capsized ship in deep water and was floating by clinging desperately to a piece of debris while looking at the mass of water all around with no sight of land. It was that perpetual feeling of sea sickness, that relentless nausea and the uncontrollable throwing up. I felt giddy in my dreams if I was able to fall asleep. And then there was the pain of the heartburn and torn muscles and the acid reflux and all sorts of other horrible symptoms that hit like merciless waves. The only thing I could think of to be thankful for when my head hung over a bucket was that the little person bouncing along inside was safe and growing and that things weren't any worse. Although my body was not capable of providing much nourishment, God enabled me to carry our sweet daughter to full term and deliver her without complication. My belly looked like I had eaten a prize-winning watermelon so we anticipated a hefty baby but the midwife placed a tiny, curled up infant with large eyes in my arms. That wasn't important though. She was warm and pink and gooey. She was perfect. And she made us a family.
One of the first questions I have received as a mother is, "Are you breastfeeding?" It doesn't hurt as much to answer this as it used to when I had to confront what I felt made me a failure of a mother. I was not able to provide a basic need for my child. My mother-in-law stopped asking after a couple of weeks and my mum made a joke out of it. Both their efforts stung though neither was trying to be critical or unhelpful. I followed the advice of the many mid-wives and lactation consultants I saw. I followed the advice of friends who were young mothers, and I followed the information on the ample supply of material available as leaflets at the hospital, in my "new mum" bag and online. But. I. failed.
Trying to breastfeed exhausted me. I was barely sleeping and it made me shiver and throw up. The physical pain was just the icing on the bad-tasting cake. I knew it would be worth it and I wanted so badly to succeed. One midwife called us the A Team as she handed over my chart to her colleague taking the next shift. When she relayed that I had delivered Phoebe naturally without any intervention or drugs and was choosing to breastfeed, I felt like a winner. I felt like I had finally achieved something in life but it all came crashing down over the next few days. I got angry at God as I had prayed over this point even before getting married. When I reflect on those earlier days, I often wonder whether I did all I could have. There is a tendency towards guilt but then I look at Phoebe and try to find consolation in the fact that she is growing well.
Phoebe has experienced a number of falls, tumbles and bumps even in her little life as a result of me not being quick enough or being negligent, uncaring or unwise. She has also been at the mercy of my temper and selfishness. There are many areas I have not done well in but though I would like to turn back the time to do it all over again so I can be a better mum, I am humbled that God is accepting me with all my flaws and so are my husband and baby girl. It has not been the easiest of journeys but definitely the one that has stretched and taught me the most.
Today over lunch, I scrolled through my phone and watched videos of Phoebe that were taken last year. I miss her chubbier days and her pre-toddler quirks. Every age is a great age. Each stage brings new challenges but also new joys and a different sense of normal. There is no desire at this point to have another child and I honestly don't think I would cope if we had a second one but anything can happen. Phoebe is such a lovely and smart little person and though she gets jealous when I carry other babies, I'm sure she will make a wonderful older sister.
Pregnancy can be such an odd thing. You can be a fit person who eats healthily and yet have the worst experience. You can escape the typical symptoms with one baby and have everything plus the kitchen sink with another. It's not dependent on age and it's not dependent on lifestyle. It's not even dependent on the gender of the baby or how many you are cooking up in the oven. I suppose there may be ways of preparing ahead of time to lessen the impact from the onslaught of hormones but it's otherwise almost like a lottery draw. Although I am incredibly hesitant or even adamant to not run the risk of putting myself through the sickness again, the cliché saying is so true. It's worth it. Phoebe was and is and always will be worth it. I just hope she takes her time to grow up so Fab and I can savour every moment longer. In my head, I have zero maternal instincts but even if I can't compare with the super mums out there, maybe I really am the right one for my little darling because she certainly is the right one for me.
I am not one for amusement parks. I hate (read: ABSOLUTELY DETEST) rides. I suffer from motion sickness and the dropping sensation makes me panic and feel awful inside. I wish I wasn't like this and that I could call it fun. Well, pregnancy was like being on an endless ride (the kind even a thrill-seeking fanatic would get ill on). It felt like I had tumbled off a capsized ship in deep water and was floating by clinging desperately to a piece of debris while looking at the mass of water all around with no sight of land. It was that perpetual feeling of sea sickness, that relentless nausea and the uncontrollable throwing up. I felt giddy in my dreams if I was able to fall asleep. And then there was the pain of the heartburn and torn muscles and the acid reflux and all sorts of other horrible symptoms that hit like merciless waves. The only thing I could think of to be thankful for when my head hung over a bucket was that the little person bouncing along inside was safe and growing and that things weren't any worse. Although my body was not capable of providing much nourishment, God enabled me to carry our sweet daughter to full term and deliver her without complication. My belly looked like I had eaten a prize-winning watermelon so we anticipated a hefty baby but the midwife placed a tiny, curled up infant with large eyes in my arms. That wasn't important though. She was warm and pink and gooey. She was perfect. And she made us a family.
One of the first questions I have received as a mother is, "Are you breastfeeding?" It doesn't hurt as much to answer this as it used to when I had to confront what I felt made me a failure of a mother. I was not able to provide a basic need for my child. My mother-in-law stopped asking after a couple of weeks and my mum made a joke out of it. Both their efforts stung though neither was trying to be critical or unhelpful. I followed the advice of the many mid-wives and lactation consultants I saw. I followed the advice of friends who were young mothers, and I followed the information on the ample supply of material available as leaflets at the hospital, in my "new mum" bag and online. But. I. failed.
Trying to breastfeed exhausted me. I was barely sleeping and it made me shiver and throw up. The physical pain was just the icing on the bad-tasting cake. I knew it would be worth it and I wanted so badly to succeed. One midwife called us the A Team as she handed over my chart to her colleague taking the next shift. When she relayed that I had delivered Phoebe naturally without any intervention or drugs and was choosing to breastfeed, I felt like a winner. I felt like I had finally achieved something in life but it all came crashing down over the next few days. I got angry at God as I had prayed over this point even before getting married. When I reflect on those earlier days, I often wonder whether I did all I could have. There is a tendency towards guilt but then I look at Phoebe and try to find consolation in the fact that she is growing well.
Phoebe has experienced a number of falls, tumbles and bumps even in her little life as a result of me not being quick enough or being negligent, uncaring or unwise. She has also been at the mercy of my temper and selfishness. There are many areas I have not done well in but though I would like to turn back the time to do it all over again so I can be a better mum, I am humbled that God is accepting me with all my flaws and so are my husband and baby girl. It has not been the easiest of journeys but definitely the one that has stretched and taught me the most.
Today over lunch, I scrolled through my phone and watched videos of Phoebe that were taken last year. I miss her chubbier days and her pre-toddler quirks. Every age is a great age. Each stage brings new challenges but also new joys and a different sense of normal. There is no desire at this point to have another child and I honestly don't think I would cope if we had a second one but anything can happen. Phoebe is such a lovely and smart little person and though she gets jealous when I carry other babies, I'm sure she will make a wonderful older sister.
Pregnancy can be such an odd thing. You can be a fit person who eats healthily and yet have the worst experience. You can escape the typical symptoms with one baby and have everything plus the kitchen sink with another. It's not dependent on age and it's not dependent on lifestyle. It's not even dependent on the gender of the baby or how many you are cooking up in the oven. I suppose there may be ways of preparing ahead of time to lessen the impact from the onslaught of hormones but it's otherwise almost like a lottery draw. Although I am incredibly hesitant or even adamant to not run the risk of putting myself through the sickness again, the cliché saying is so true. It's worth it. Phoebe was and is and always will be worth it. I just hope she takes her time to grow up so Fab and I can savour every moment longer. In my head, I have zero maternal instincts but even if I can't compare with the super mums out there, maybe I really am the right one for my little darling because she certainly is the right one for me.
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