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| A four-week old Kraken as a wizened elf with a penchant for death metal. Otherwise known as the photo that will force him to disown me. |
There are two types of people in this world: the ones that will admit to having seen or met ugly babies and the ones that insist no baby is ugly, and that they're all beautiful in their own way.
I think we all know which camp I belong to.
1. Some babies are just ugly. Let's just be honest, it's true. I'm not trying to be cruel here, it's just a fact of life. I'm speaking from experience - I was a truly ugly baby. But here's the positive - mums never think this of their own kid, and so even though my mum would defend those pictures of me looking like a googley-eyed piece of chewed toffee to the death, everyone else knows the truth. The polite ones would mumble something about me having a nice, err... nose and then change the subject, but people lacking the ability to sugar coat would call it.
The point is: it doesn't matter. At all. Most newborns look like wizened old men to a degree (see above), but they'll soon grow out of it. Well, most of them. And in any case, if you're their mum, you won't see it anyway.
2. Labour really, REALLY hurts. Here's another truth from beyond the silent veil of parenthood, one that is shushed and softened to the uninitiated. I remember asking various parents when I was pregnant about whether it actually really hurt, and their responses included:
'It's different for everyone.'
'Yes - but you forget it very quickly.'
'Not really, it's kind of like intense period pain, but it doesn't last that long.'
I have three words to say to those parents. BIG FAT LIARS.
Now I understand that they were playing it down so I didn't freak out and waddle up to the hospital to demand an elective c-section, but I want to spell it out for anyone else out there that would really like to know the truth. If you don't, skip to number 3. In fact, skip this whole blog.
The closest description of the pain I experienced - and yes, I do appreciate that we all experience pain differently, but on closer inspection with other mums, it seems that the majority are in agreement with this - is like being hit repeatedly in the abdomen with a baseball bat, very hard and without mercy. Or being stabbed, over and over. I know it sounds dramatic, but it was. It was incredible. And I haven't forgotten it. Not even a tiny little bit.
And the most messed up part of the entire thing is that we're expected to try and do it without any pain relief. I mean...?! What the actual? What other incredibly painful major medical procedure would you be expected to endure without pain relief or anaesthetic?
And to the people that say 'well, women have been giving birth like that since the dark ages,' YEAH. I can tell. It was bloody barbaric.
Maybe it was because my labour was induced, and I'd already been having contractions for 36 hours before I 'caved' in and begged for pain relief that my experience was so negative, but I'm not alone.
The point is: there are no medals for bravery in labour. It's hard, painful and scary - and pain relief is a very sensible thing to have in that situation. If you can manage without - super. Good for you. If not - take the drugs, and take them all.
3. Caring for a baby when you're ill is hell. So about a week ago I woke up feeling sick. The first, literally gut-wrenching thought was that I might be pregnant again, followed by a groggy sprint to the bathroom to relieve my stomach of its contents. Delightful. After ruling out the pregnancy fears (I can not begin to describe the relief), I continued to throw up all morning. Six times, to be exact. My husband had to leave to attend a conference, so I spent the afternoon trying not to vomit over the Kraken - although revenge for the past five months was tempting - and actually gagging whilst changing his nappy. The remainder of the day was occupied by lying on the floor as he wriggled and drooled on the play mat, not even bothering to move when he shimmied over to my face and proceeded to chew enthusiastically on my chin whilst yanking fistfuls of my hair.
I'd have taken a photo for posterity - and this blog - but had long since forgotten the whereabouts of my phone, or the will to give a shit.
The point is: if you're that ill, don't let your husband leave to go to a conference. Or do, but make him take the baby.
4. Keep good friends and family around you. Although I'm now never alone at home, this whole process can be incredibly isolating. When the Kraken was very little, I was too scared/tired/broken to leave the house, and ended up feeling extremely miserable. My lovely husband was at work again, and although my parents have been utter angels and helped no end, day to day it was just me and the Kraken. This is where mummy friends have become utterly invaluable - and this from someone that enjoys her own company and maintained a borderline prickly level of independence before. I met a wonderful bunch of ladies through NCT classes, and the afore mentioned Dancing Gal has saved my sanity no end of times by helping me to laugh through the two hours a night sleep, rather than weep.
The point is: accept help. Even if you never have before. And make friends, even with the pretty ex-professional dancer ones that look like they've never given birth. They just might be one of the best things about having a baby.
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