As someone who didn’t find love until later in life, nor seriously consider trying for a baby until turning 40, I found myself categorized as what the medical profession likes to call a ‘geriatric’ mother - a term I’ve embraced with gusto and humor.
Truth be told, I was pleasantly surprised to discover how little my age affected my pregnancy and labor; more so how few unwanted comments were made about it.
The obstetrician did throw a curveball as my due date approached, informing me that the guidelines recommend early induction for women over 40 to reduce the risk of stillbirth. Induction is no easy option, frequently leading to long labors, and often ending in an emergency c-section.
Given that everything with both my baby’s and my own health had been good throughout the pregnancy, being lumped into a high-risk category based on age alone seemed nonsensical, nor did I want to pre-emptively throw my plan A birth preferences out the window before even hitting full term.
Being informed about the risks vs the benefits of the options, and perhaps a bonus of being older and more confident in advocating for myself these days, I declined the early induction and went on to deliver our baby in the birthing pool at 39 weeks and four days.
The birth of our son was everything and nothing like I’d expected. You can read the books, listen to the podcasts, and hear all the birth stories from friends who have been through it, but nothing can truly prepare you. Happening fast and furiously, the intensity and rawness of labor took me by surprise. Simultaneously it was magical, gentle, and empowering. This duality is a theme I find myself returning to as I begin this new phase as a mother, and I remain in awe of what the female body is capable of.
The first 24 hours after the birth go by in a blur of joy, wonder, and oxytocin. After nine months of growing and carrying our son, it’s incredible to finally meet and hold him. The intangible becomes a physical reality. There’s a sense of relief in feeling an immediate overwhelming love and connection for our son. I know this doesn’t happen for everyone and bonding can sometimes take time.
Once home, the hard part starts, and reality kicks in. Along with the overwhelming responsibility of looking after a tiny human, there is the relentlessness of the feeding combined with the struggles of getting a good latch and a suspected posterior tongue tie. We don’t have any family nearby, mine live overseas and my partner’s are a four-hour round trip away, but we do have video chats and the invaluable support network of mum and dad friends. This week’s MVPs are the ones who send food deliveries. In these early weeks, the best gift you can give new parents is providing quick and easy meals…preferably something you can shovel in one-handed whilst feeding your baby, as they WILL decide to wake up and demand a feed the very moment dinner is served. A muslin draped across the baby makes an excellent crumb catcher, avoiding any ‘croissant or cradle cap?’ dilemmas.
Day four brings the much-talked-about baby blues with floods of tears, self-doubt, and thoughts of ‘oh God, what have we done, this is really bloody hard?’; along with eye-popping breast engorgement as the milk kicks in.
Having sometimes wondered what these puppies might look like with a spot of enhancement, nature provides the goods and I quickly regret not documenting them for my personal archives. A near-permanent topless state is adopted, not because of a desire to parade them to the neighbors, but given the frequency of the feeds and high nipple sensitivity it remains the most comfortable and time-saving option.
As for the baby blues, they’re most often found in the evenings when the feeds and fussing peak, but immediately vanish the following morning as we lay in bed and gaze with adoration and wonder upon the tiny sleeping bundle of joy that has changed our lives forever.
There’s this term “matrescence” which I’d heard mentioned on several pregnancy and motherhood podcasts. It describes the physical, emotional, hormonal, and social transition into motherhood. Elements I’ve wondered and worried about frequently throughout pregnancy, particularly whether, in becoming a mother, I might lose my own identity. Conversely, perhaps this will be something of a rebirth and the beginning of a new phase, particularly after a difficult couple of years both personally and professionally.
They say that most of the time, the experience of motherhood is not good or bad, it is both good and bad. Hard relate. With that in mind, I’ll be rounding off each week’s diary entry by reflecting on the best and worst things from the week.
The best thing that happened this week was: Apart from meeting our son and seeing his face for the first time, it’s the pure bliss of being able to sleep on my back again for the first time in months. Side sleeping in the third trimester was not kind on these hips.
The best thing that happened this week was: The intensity of the baby blues and constantly sweaty feet. Once again we have hormonal changes to thank for both of these.