When your newborn isn't new anymore

I feel fine. My skin has stopped glowing and my boobs have almost shrunk back down to their usual size. I don’t have bags under my eyes and my nails are starting to fall apart for no reason again. My pregnancy hormones seem to have now fully retreated whence they came.

The truth is, I’ve been feeling this way for about a month now, but sort of wishing I wasn’t. I now this sounds like I’m trying to have my cake and eat it too, but it’s a sobering thought to realise that my life has stopped being consumed by my new baby, and, like a gyroscope that always rights itself, I have now absorbed my son into my life so much so that I can’t remember what it was like before he was here.

While this is clearly a wonderful feeling, and I am relieved to have got to this stage, I’m also a bit sad that the daze of pregnancy and new-bornness is over. It affords you special status, where you can be excused for forgetting to do things or bursting into tears at any moment, because everyone knows you aren’t supposed to be able to cope. But now I’m past all that, and I’m back to just being myself. And I have to readjust to being myself again, because for 9 months I was two people, then when my son was born I became even less than one person, and now it’s just me again. With him. Still following?

I feel I am sliding quickly down the slope from the anticipated, media-hyped status as ‘new mum’ to the much more serious and rewarding, but less glamourous title of ‘parent’. Having been treading water happily in the roles of independent young woman, and then (still independent) wife for quite some time, this new transition seems to have happened way too fast. Because my son’s life is so short so far compared to mine, the ratio of change to days spent on earth is so much bigger. Instead of waking up and realising I’ve been in the same job for three years and only my hair colour has changed, I now wake up realising that Junior has gained three new skills that he didn’t have last week!

The key, of course, is to appreciate each stage as it happens. But clichés are easier said than done. Changes happen so quickly you can hardly keep up. At mothers’ groups around the world we lovingly compare each others rolling, crawling, walking and talking babies, wishing our own would start doing this or that, while at the same time nostalgically hanging on to those first few weeks when they were so fresh and dependent. The cure for this madness? Take one great night's sleep and count your blessings in the morning.

A mother of a decision

I don’t often receive nasty comments about the direction of my life. Not being in jail or on drugs or having a suitcase full of hateful ex-boyfriends, I’d have to say my life is pretty good. Sure, I’m not going to win the Nobel Prize for Chemistry tomorrow and I haven’t written a bestseller (yet), but I think I’m doing OK at this thing called life. Not so! I found out this week, when two women from my past just couldn’t help but share their disdain at my latest endeavour, if you can call it that: the birth of my first child.

“What a waste [me] having a baby.” Pow! If that doesn’t knock you sideways you must be built like an Olympic weightlifter. I didn’t know that putting my reproductive organs to good use would actually cause the rest of my mind, body and soul to wither away into nothingness. Not to mention render invisible any great feats achieved during my first 29 years of life. I guess if I had read more of those pregnancy guides before I even got knocked up I would have found this out and maybe reconsidered my options.

But, not to worry, I had a few days to push this drivel to the back of my mind before the next gold nugget of unsolicited insults came my way. “You were such a smart girl.” Double pow! Did you know that giving birth diminishes long term brain function? Yeah, me neither. The nurse in the antenatal class must have forgotten to mention it.

Yes folks, like all humans, I’m not getting any younger. And yes, like many women, I was thrilled at the idea of starting a family of my own. So thrilled that I didn’t think about it for more than one second, didn’t consult my husband, didn’t mull over my possible career trajectory should I choose to remain sans bébé. I mean, who has time to think about all that stuff!

I know I’m not the first woman to come face to face with the dilemma of having a career and a family, but there’s nothing like being slapped in the face with it to make you suddenly take notice of what the female sex has been grappling with for over half a century now. I guess I am shocked that there are still those who somehow believe that you are a failure as an intelligent woman if you choose family over a career at some point in life.

In the dictionary, a career is defined as “an occupation or profession, especially one requiring special training”. Let’s stop right there. Not too many men I know have two of these going at the same time! So why should women be forced to feel inadequate just because they focus their attention on the occupation of motherhood whilst leaving paid work by the wayside? Of course, everyone knows that once you select your occupation, you can never change it. You’re stuck for life. Nobody ever decides to change direction or pursue a different career path... Hang on, sorry, my grandmother started typing there for a minute.