My son, Ralph, was born at Easter and it’s not a stretch to say that the days since have been some of the most challenging of my life. Before becoming a mum, I thought MM had tested me in every way possible. An all-consuming eight years of sacrifice and selfishness, spanning most of my twenties, working hundred-hour work weeks, and putting unforgivable strain on friendships and romantic relationships. But the upshot, I thought, was that it had primed me with the resilience and stamina I would need for motherhood… And then the baby arrived. And it was truly like getting punched in the face. And the stomach. And the boobs! And if the hormones don’t drive you to the brink of insanity then the sleep deprivation will.
Ralph hasn’t been a great sleeper; I get between two and three hours on a good night. I’ll never forget (although I probably will because my short-term memory disappeared with the sleep) the look of terror on my partner’s face when he found me slumped on the floor of the shower. On bad days, which are most days, I dread seeing the sunset because I know what the hours in front of us look like. But the sleep deprivation hasn’t surprised me as much as the loneliness has. Running your own business is lonely, there’s very few people you can talk to who understand what it’s like, but it pales in comparison to the loneliness I’ve felt in motherhood. It’s so strange to me that this experience of becoming a mum, which is so natural and primal and dependent on community, is so incompatible with modern life? A mother sitting in a dark room nursing her baby at two in the morning, with not even the sound of traffic or birds or rubbish trucks to keep her company, is undeniably alone.
The excitement and support that surrounded me when I was pregnant and in the first few weeks postpartum was incredible. Lasagnes arrived on our doorstep, girlfriends rallied around me with hand-me-downs and advice on which stroller to buy, and my own mum became my lighthouse; I steered myself towards her as she guided me through swaddling and burping and how to differentiate six different cries while soothing my own. But there’s a No Man’s Land that a new mum enters shortly after that first month. It’s when everyone resumes their normal lives. You’re back in that dark room at two in the morning, only now you’re frantically Googling how other business owners with young families did it.
That’s the part I can’t figure out. How did they do it? I know it’s possible because I’ve seen it - so many of the business women I admire have proven it’s possible! And yet what I can’t find evidence of (and believe me, I’ve tried) is how. What choices did they make? Which sacrifices were the right ones? Which would they take back? What tools or people or superpowers made the journey possible? My theory as to why mums, business owners or not, don’t share their stories is because they’re simply too exhausted while they’re in it, and too far removed once they’re out the other side to do it justice. They tell themselves, years later when looking back: There’s no way it could have been that hard, I wouldn’t have survived.
I used to say that my favourite thing about spring was the flowers. Or the arrival of longer days, or the return of sunny patches to stand in. But if you asked me today, I’d say it was the reminder that winter never lasts forever. The last few weeks, on my daily Bondi boardwalk march - a march I’ve done so many times with Ralph over the last five months that I’ve started counting the bollards because I cannot bear another podcast - I’ve started to feel the season change. Ralph has had more consistent sleep. I’ve spent more time with friends and less time at the bottom of the shower. And the daylight hours are stretching out in front of me. I’m still losing my hair and my keys and my train of thought, but I can see spring. And I won’t miss the sleep deprivation or the loneliness but I’ll miss almost everything else about the first five months of Ralph’s life.
Last weekend, Sydney had its first bluebird day in weeks and we took Ralph to the beach. His toes were wriggling in the sand while a soundtrack of seagulls and surfers and kids being chased by parents played in the background, and I felt my body release. It was as good a reminder as any that tough days are ahead but warm days are too. And everything feels better with the sun on your back.
x M
