They said everything would get easier and they were right. Breastfeeding is no longer painful, sleep is more plentiful and the baby grows more rewardingly interactive by the day. Many aspects of motherhood have taken me by surprise, not least how much I enjoy it, having never particularly paid much attention to babies before. Now I find all babies fascinating and adorable, especially my own.
Is there anything more joyful than a baby’s smile? Some days my cheeks ache from smiling at him. The first time he smiled at me, tears pricked my eyes. It was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. He smiles more and more now and it’s infectious. He also chuckles. Strangely, he first laughed in his sleep. What was he laughing at when he hadn’t yet laughed in his waking world? Sometimes he locks eyes with me and smiles whilst he’s feeding. This makes his mouth break suction so that the milk dribbles out, which really makes me laugh, which makes his smile broaden into a chuckle, exacerbating the leak. We don’t tell BFG. I mop up the mess with a muslin. It’s worth it.
I wasn’t prepared for the explosive poos. I had been warned about baby boys weeing when you change their nappy, and so smugly placed some loo roll over his penis to avoid any sudden spray, thinking I had it all sorted. Then liquid shit shot out of his bottom as if from a pressurised water pistol. It went all over my nightdress. First lesson: never stand in the line of fire. But nappy changing is always hazardous, because wiping his bottom stimulates it. There are often multiple explosions at any one time. I learned to be ready to catch any fresh spray shots in the dirty nappy, but sometimes, just when I thought the show was over and reached for a new nappy, there would be another burst. One went all over a nice rug in the bedroom, so we moved the changing table. Another hit our new bedroom curtains and ran down our white wall. BFG sent a photo of the shit-stained wall to my family and blamed me for ‘holding the baby like a spray can’. This was unfair. You have to hold their legs up whilst you change their nappy. There have been further incidents, too numerous to mention.
I thought, having been a larger lady throughout my life, that I would struggle to lose the weight that I’d gained in pregnancy, but I’m already back to my pre-pregnancy weight and falling, without any effort. Breastfeeding appears to be a miraculous fat burner. I’d read that breastfeeding burned an extra 300+ calories per day, but thought it sounded too good to be true. It seems to be working for me and I celebrate the magical fat transfer. I rejoice in the baby gaining weight; as his squidgy thighs grow chubbier, my own become leaner. Though I hate to think what will happen when I stop breastfeeding. Might have to become a wet nurse.
I spend all day looking after my little Dreamer and entertaining him. When he sleeps in the morning, I work whilst gazing at him. When he wakes up, I greet him with smiles and cuddles. I caress my cheek against his soft head whilst carrying him around. I talk to him throughout the day. I dance for him whilst preparing food and washing up. I bounce him on my knee when sitting talking to people - and of course I also feed him. In the evenings I hand him over to BFG for a brief interval. Sometimes I return to find the baby in his chair or cot and BFG on his computer or playing piano. This makes me indignant. Some days I haven’t even been able to send a text message because I’ve been so consumed with the baby, and BFG’s laissez-faire approach makes a mockery of my efforts. Once I huffed, ‘I don’t think you realise how much is required with a baby’. He shot back, ‘I don’t think you realise how little is required’. I laughed. The truth, I’m sure, lies somewhere in the middle.