The amnesia of motherhood.

There is so much of motherhood that is immediately lost to history. All the things that feel endless in the moment- especially to new Mums- soon can’t be remembered with any confidence. When did my five month old start doing this, or stop doing that? It must have been somewhere between 5 and 10 weeks, I suppose… but how can those moments not be differenciated in my memory when they felt so distant from each other at the time? How is a day as long as a year and as mindless as breathing, but a week as short as a day and require so much effort?

Now that I am aware of the strange hormonal and circumstantial induced amnesia of motherhood, I suppose I should write more down.

I spent the first two months of Esther’s life in full blown panic mode. The first two weeks were the hardest of my life. I struggled because I didn’t know my child. I didn’t recognise her. She looked different to what I expected, as far as I expected anything. I felt like I’d been handed a stranger. My pregnancy felt divorced from the actual baby it produced, like it was something to endure (and enjoy when I could), but did nothing to prepare me for the living baby. I remember trying to imagine the baby in my belly and forcibly bond with it while in utero, but I struggled to feel any connection, mostly because I struggled to conceptualise a tiny goddamn human INSIDE my body. It’s really not acknowledged enough how bizarre that is, even if it is also literally the most natural thing in the world. Regardless, when she was born, I just felt shocked. Who are you? What do you like? How can I help? Are you mine? Do you like me? Are you happy to be here? Am I comforting to you? Do you know me?

It’s different to look back at my pregnancy because I know, now, that it was Esther. It wasn’t some nameless, faceless void expanding in my womb, it was Esther. My girl. My baby. My little darling. She’s my world, we spend literally every waking and sleeping moment together, I couldn’t know her any better than I do now - expect, of course, for how well I’ll know her tomorrow. We’re always growing closer. If I could go back and redo my pregnancy knowing that it was Esther, maybe I could have enjoyed it more. Maybe I would have had an easier time after she was born, had a more immediate connection. But alas, we were part of the common bunch who needed to wait and work for their love to grow after birth. The intense maternal protectiveness was immediate, the hormonal hit ensured I couldn’t be separated from her without genuine anguish, but the love grew slower. It was week three that Lewis walked in on me staring at Esther’s sleeping face and he remarked, “I think someone’s in love”. I felt like I’d be faking everything to that point. Every time Lewis would talk about how crazy it was that he loved her so much already, I would nod along in agreement, even if I struggled to understand. But by that third week, holding her already-grown-still-tiny body, I knew he was finally right. I was definitely in love. I recognise her; she is mine.

That sense grows along with her, which is to say, fucking rapidly. Every day we learn a little more about one another. She develops a skill or a preference and I interpret. People always say “you are the expert in your baby”, but I would better characterise myself as Esther’s interpreter. I don’t know exactly what she’s trying to say at every given moment but I am the best person out there to translate and experiment and reply until it feels right to both of us.

I wouldn’t say that she’s showing many personality traits yet - unless little legend is a personality trait - but she’s showing preferences. She is fairly independent, as far as babies go. She is happy to be put down, play on her own, bounce in her bouncer and just be part of the room. Happy to watch me while I do chores, dance and entertain her. She doesn’t like being restricted for too long - a car ride she can handle, but putting her in and out of the car over and over all day is asking too much. She’s not a fan of baths. Bloody loves her Dad. Her eyes are like an anime character’s when she smiles, like little half moons.

The strangest preference that she’s shown has been a sudden change this week. For her whole life, she’s been held close, rocked and fed and shushed to sleep. Then, perhaps just over a week ago, I started to sense that she didn’t seem comfortable falling asleep in my arms anymore. She seemed annoyed, restless in a new way. She would arch her back and look over her eyebrows away from me, but not cry. Just stare behind her, blankly. I kept rocking, kept swaying, patting, shushing, but she just looked bored. It wasn’t doing anything for her, let alone lulling her to sleep. So, as a last resort, I tried just… putting her down in her cot. I stayed with her, hand on her chest, while like some miracle, she worked her way to sleep. Independently.

If she looked at me, I would smile reassuringly. If she fussed, I would tell her that I was close. But she didn’t want me to pick her up (she cried when I tried), so I just let her do what she seemed to want to do.

I had heard stories about babies doing this, of course, but I was sure they were sleep trained. I had read comments from parents on forums saying they “could tell their baby wanted to be put down one day” and wondered how the hell a nine month old communicates something like that with an adult. And then it happened to me with my five month old. It seems my baby has a preference for falling asleep on her back, in her cot, with me next to her. All I can say is: what the fuck?

I can understand how this may come across as a humble brag, so let me assure you that her ability to do this does not in any way mean she sleeps through the night. It’s just a preference that she’s showing, one that is inconsistent and unpredictable. Each nap and bedtime I have to interpret her preferences: how much do you need me this time? Sometimes less, mostly more. We work with her mood at the time.

This change in her preferences for settling to sleep paints a stark reminder that the entire point of motherhood is to hold your baby close, so that they are confident enough to grow away from you. That is the complicated, sometimes cruel, juxtaposition of our role in these little lives. We spend so much time when they’re small feeling completely used up - giving everything to them so they can thrive, can sleep, can eat, are happy, are enriched, are educated. Sometimes we even catch ourselves wishing for them to be a little older, a little more independent, and not need us quite so much.

Until, of course, it happens.

And sometimes, in cases like mine, it happens much sooner than you ever expected.

Perhaps if I had known I would only get five months of holding my daughter against my body and comforting her to sleep, I would have appreciated it more.

Perhaps if I had known it was her when she was in my belly, I would have accepted pregnancy better.

Perhaps if I had trusted that we would bond, I would have surrendered to postpartum easier.

I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere. One that we force ourselves to learn over and over.