I am putting a pen to paper for the first time since my life changed forever. I am here with my 13 day old son in a sling at my breast. It is not easy to describe the vast range of emotions I feel from one moment to the next as this astonishing being breathes next to me.
They are rainbow coloured.
There is almighty love, awe, joy, pride, peace and a deep happiness that I’ve never known before.
He is perfect in every way.
His skin is so soft.
The lines on his tiny hands and feet make me cry.
I lie in bed at night staring at him when I know I should be sleeping.
Today his eyes locked with mine for a few fleeting seconds and there was a wisdom there that tells me he already knows me better than I know myself.
There is a wild protectiveness that takes over unexpectedly when people get too close – yes, even my husband and mother have provoked this primal feeling.
And honestly? Cos I always promise to be honest with you.
There is also fear, helplessness, exhaustion, stress, anger, numbness, emptiness, grief and yes, even sadness.
Followed swiftly by guilt because I know how blessed I am to have him here.
My body has so fundamentally changed.
My womb is empty.
My cunt is so sore and tender.
My boobs now belong to a hungry little monster who depends on me for survival.
Sometimes he sucks gently and that’s so sweet.
Other times his face turns bright red and his hands clench into fists and he pounds at my breast as I desperately try to navigate mountains of pillows so I can get him into the right position.
But still, in the rainbow coloured emotional space, all is perfect and exactly as it is meant to be.
I am becoming a mother. He is already my son. We are learning together.
I’m still me.
That was the biggest surprise.
I expected to somehow be transformed into all the things that I’ve been conditioned to believe defines a mother.
I fell for the Hollywood trap that as soon as I held him in my arms, i would instantly know exactly how to look after this tiny being.
Not true, I’m afraid.
My first emotions were happiness, of course and amazement too.
But also a huge “thank fuck that is over”.
And “Ughh I’m covered in blood”.
And “Jesus, this cord is fucking annoying”.
And “I don’t want to push out the placenta over a fucking bucket and you can’t make me!”.
And even “I wish he’d stop crying”.
Which led to “Why is he crying?”
It’s not all a bed of roses.
And nor should it be.
It is rainbow coloured.
This is a huge initiation.
I am now a mother.
He really is my son.
This is the magical being I have been connecting with for years and years.
And he’s finally here in my arms.
And he’s so fucking perfect.
He arrived in the world with a terrific yelp, his amniotic sack exploding in my man’s face. He caught him as I roared on all fours.
It was perfect.
As I write this, the tears flow. They flow all the time now. And it feels good. After all those waves that surged through my body, I’m now just flowing like the milk from my boobs.
We got him here.
We travelled to this foreign land because we knew it was what he wanted.
We built our home in this beautiful truck so that I could get down on all fours on these antique pine floorboards and breathe our son into being.
The truck swayed and rocked with me as I followed the rhythm of my body.
As my husband, midwife and doula breathed and moaned through every single wave with me.
I’ll write more soon, as the words come but know he is here.
He is perfect and yes, I am now a mother.
All is well.