Transitioning to motherhood… and beyond
Trigger warning: Includes reference to childbirth and post-partum haemorrhage.
Transition: the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another
Some years offer more transitions than most. I’ve undergone the most transitions I’ve ever been through in the space of 18 months.
Transition… from pregnancy to motherhood
Transition… from being in a couple to a family of three
Transition… from living in London to living outside of the capital
Transition… to and from maternity leave… and heading back to work
It’s now March 2022. This time last year, I was in my third trimester of pregnancy, living with my husband and mother-in-law in London, and working from home (mostly in my pyjamas)–all due to the COVID-19 pandemic (yes, including the baby). The vaccine roll-out had begun. We were still in lockdown.
The winter of 2020/21 was extremely tough, as it was for so many–particularly those who lost loved ones and livelihoods. For me, not being able to be with my family and not knowing when I could be near them to prepare for the birth of our baby girl was suffocating. I felt like I was holding my breath for a long time. Don’t even get me started on the Downing Street parties.
I’ve come to realise since leaving London last April to have a baby and buy a house, I’ve been through one of the toughest transitions I’ve ever experienced.
I wasn’t kidding myself about moving away from London. I knew that leaving a city I’ve been in love with since forever was going to be difficult. I feel like I’ve lost a massive part of myself. This has everything to do with being away from London and very little to do with becoming a parent, although that of course plays a part in how I’m feeling.
However, after years of saving, we bought our first home when our baby was several weeks old and got the keys on a bright Autumn morning. I’d love to say that it was the best feeling in the world, but it felt anti-climatic after all those years of pining and I wasn’t prepared for how I’d feel a little bit empty afterwards. But now we’ve been painting, and putting our own stamp on it with our own colours and furniture, I’m feeling the love for it.
Looking back, pregnancy was a joy. I enjoyed the transition my body was making and would read up on the bump’s daily progress, slathering bio oil on it and doing daily yoga stretches. I felt grounded in my body and incredibly humble and thankful for the work it was doing to grow our tiny human. The pregnancy itself was pretty uncomplicated.
However, the birth did not go how I’d hoped. Don’t read the next paragraph if you’re likely to be triggered.
On a stormy night after a very hot week following a failed induction, the heartbeats (hers and mine) went all wrong and I had an emergency c-section followed by an intensive care stay due to a post-partum haemorrhage. I’d read all the hypnobirthing books and did the theory. This was not in the plan. When I felt the surgeons pumping my uterus to try and stop the bleeding I remember holding the anaesthetist's hand and telling her that I didn’t want to hear or feel anymore. I wanted to be put to sleep–and bless her, she acted straight away. I woke up 10 hours later without my husband and baby in the ICU, listening to the nurses gossiping because they didn’t realise I’d gained consciousness. I’ll spare the rest of the grizzly details. But after a turbulent week where I heard the term ‘Sharp scratch’ more times than I care to mention, I’m eternally grateful we survived and that I live to tell the tale.
And so, nine months ago, our baby girl was born and my partner and I became parents. It’s true what they say: when you’re a parent, the days are long but the years are short. Nine months have passed in the blink of an eye.
Initially, I was dubious about changing nappies and night feeds. But she has bought a light into our lives that we never dreamt of. It feels like she’s always been with us. It’s a privilege to watch her grow and she makes us laugh every day, making the inevitable sleep deprivation totally bearable. There are so many thoughts I have about parenthood, and perhaps that’s another article(!).
Now, I’m contemplating the return to work in April with a mixture of excitement and slight trepidation. Not trepidation because of the work. I’m in a very fortunate position because I love what I do, and the people I do it with. In fact, it took me quite a few weeks after the birth to switch off from work and throw myself into parenthood. I’m anxious about transitioning our baby into nursery–of leaving her with people I don’t know. And the jarring reality of early starts and not being a morning person. Of chasing that ever-elusive work/life balance. I will be becoming a ‘work parent’. My goal over the coming months is to establish what that means for me and to make it work as best I can.
The concept of being a work-parent certainly is an eye-opener. The other day, my friend and I joked how in our early-20s we may have side-eyed a parent who strolled into the office at ten past nine, when in reality we now know that they were likely up around 6am (perhaps intermittently through the night), done feeds/nappies/breakfasts/nursery drop-off — delete/insert as appropriate and then came into the office to boss it and then go home and do a similar scenario. It sounds basic AF but essentially it’s juggling two jobs. Any pointers for me? Answers on a postcard please.
Ultimately, I’m proud of the transition I’ve made, and acutely aware of how fortunate I am. In a pack of tarot cards you can find a card called the Six of Swords. The swords do not weigh the boat… you have sailed. I have sailed.
