By Louise Perkins
About this time last year I was 35 hours into labour with my first child. The nurses wheeled an empty crib in to my room. Apparently, my bub was going to be placed in it sometime in the near future! It sat across the room from me and I’m sure it winked. I was thinking: “Sure I’ve spent 9 months working up to this, but it can’t actually be true? Me a mum? My bub in that crib? Woah!”. I was still battling to place it in my mind as another contraction took hold…
Finally, after an epic 42 hour labour there she was in my arms, a perfect baby girl. Moments after the birth, the midwife squeezed my boob very unceremoniously. Miraculously, out came milk and bubs munched happily away for the next hour as if she’d been doing it forever, and as if nothing insanely traumatic had just happened to both of us.
So what next? A nice Becks and lie down? I think not. All I can say is, pregnancy is like 9 months of being on that up-hill climb to the pinnacle of a massive roller coaster. From birth on (and that’s the moment you give birth, not a nice 12 hour nap afterwards when you’re rested and ready, thanks very much!) it’s all free fall and you have absolutely no control over your life any more.
I won’t bore you with the typical sleepless nights, stinky nappies and sore nipples stuff, which although very near killed me, honestly speaking, was not what shocked me the most about motherhood. What shocked me the most, and I guess still shocks me a year on, is figuring who the hell I am now? I no longer have a minute in the day where I can be ‘me’ any more. I am a 24/7 robot programmed to serve the needs of its master. I have no choice in the matter, my life as I knew it is irrelevant. I’ve just got to do whatever it takes to keep my flesh and blood, fed, clean and safe at all times. Nature seemed to have neglected to consult me before setting the wheels in motion on that one.
This time last year, who was I? Well, I was someone who’d travelled the world more than once, had worked as a tour guide in Asia, started writing a book, rode camels in the Sahara, drove a beat up Kombi van around the coast of Aus, got a degree, taught at University, got her nosed pierced (several times), ate rats, snakes and pigs brain in the Mekong, survived dysentery alone in India… and Nepal, loved to read, loved talking philosophy, saw live music, ate out every other day, phoned my friends… more than once a month… actually socialized… in person!! And now…
Well now, who am I? I work harder than I ever had, have longer days (and nights) than I’ve ever known before. The thought of travelling again is a reality that’s slipping through my fingers a bit more every day. I’m now know as someone’s Mummy and ‘primary carer’, not a jet setting adventurer who follows her own path in life, not the Cultural Anthropologist, guitar playing, hippy, wanderer of the world, free spirit and muncher of Asian oddities. Just a typical Mum, living in the burbs, changing stinky nappies, rinsing spew off her fresh clothes, then getting spewed on again 3 seconds after changing… you know the drill.
Talk about identity crisis. One I’m yet to figure out to be honest. But ‘losing myself’ has bought me the greatest privilege I could ever know. In getting lost, I found the most amazing person I know. Every day she changes and evolves. Every day she eagerly learns a plethora of new things, she has life milestones every week, she trusts everyone she meets, she wakes up smiling and is the most honest and true being ever to cross my path. I challenge anyone to compete with such a list of achievements! Every day I’m amazed and filled to bursting point with love for my gorgeous girl. To my recollection I can’t remember a single thing that came even close to this feeling in the 28 years of my life prior to Motherhood. Identity crisis, yes… but worth it? You bet!
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