“The days are long, but the years are oh so short”

I’m less than five months in, but I feel I already know this quote will be true for me.  Watching my baby grow and develop is both my favourite thing in the world and a journey of bittersweet goodbyes.

It’s my favourite thing because I feel proud as she reaches little milestones, I congratulate her for learning to hold her rattle, for discovering her feet, for seeing her stick her tongue out, for laughing with her whole body. I watch everything she does, I don’t want to miss any firsts, and I get excited by every single one.

And it’s bittersweet because it’s happening so quickly. Already I’ve said goodbye to her smallness and her newbornness. I’ve watched new stages start before I was ready to let the first ones go. I remember the moment when I first saw a baby that was smaller than her – when she was no longer the smallest. The moment when people stopped saying to me “you forget how small they are”; when I packed away her newborn clothes because they no longer fit her. I went through a few weeks when I couldn’t stop looking at photos of her when she was just born – when she was wet and red and wrinkly and sleepy.

My daughter is over four months now, and at no time in my life has my heart been so full. So in an effort to make sure her first year doesn’t pass me by I’ve brainstormed some ideas to enjoy and preserve this special time. Feel free to comment and add your own below.

• Take photos! We did a professional photo shoot with our very talented friend – Madeleine Suzanne – when Nala was 6 weeks. When we eventually find a home to settle in we’ll be printing these photos on canvases.
• Journal – when Nala was five days old I snuggled her up in the Hugabub and walked to our local coffee shop, where I sat and wrote her birth story, while she snuggled in and slept. It became a bit of a ritual for me – something I would do for myself. It always included a walk, coffee, snuggle time and lots of writing – all of my favourite things. I’m still doing it as much as I can. It helps me process the big change that’s happened in my life, the fact that I am now a mum. And it helps me remember how everything feels and the special little moments that pass too quickly.
• Letting her sleep on me. I’ve heard all the advice saying ‘put the baby to bed sleepy, but awake’, I know the theory, I’ve read the sleep books. But my baby doesn’t like to sleep alone and I love holding her as she sleeps. Some of my favourite moments since she was born involve her, flopped into my arms, fast asleep. Sometimes these are quiet, secret moments at home, sometimes they are close moments when we are out and about. Either way I just can’t resist them. I see her getting sleepy and I know it’s time to put her down, but I also know she will grow so fast and I wont get these snuggles for long, so I hold her a bit longer. I may regret this - I am in equal parts loving it and scared that I’ll create bad habits. But I’m not willing to sacrifice the cuddles just in case.
• Filling in her baby book – I’m writing in it every month, recording the milestones as they happen.  
• Finding activities that my baby and I enjoy doing together. It can be easy to get stuck in the daily routine of feeding, playing, bathing, sleeping etc. I’ve signed up to do a Mums and Babes class once a week, which is full of developmental play, songs etc and is really fun for both of us. I also took Nala to a yoga class last week – she had lots of fun doing her best to copy the poses, so I think next year I’ll go weekly to the class you can take you baby to.
• I got Nala an email address! I’ve already written her a couple of emails and over the coming years I will write her many more. When I think she is ready I’ll give her the log in details. I want her to know just how loved she is, but she’s too young to remember if I tell her now, which is why I’m emailing it to her for later.
• Remembering that every nappy change is an opportunity to play, to bond, to teach and to look into my daughter’s eyes. I’m not going to lie, the novelty of nappy changes wore off after the first 500 times (so about week two…) But my daughter loves nappy changes. She waves her arms and legs with excitement and we have a special nappy song that we sing. For me this song was about creating memories out of something that has to be done and using every opportunity to bond with my little one.

I’ll continue to add to this list as I think of more ideas. I constantly wish I could press the pause button on time, but I cannot. So instead I’ll try to be intentional about not letting this time get lost in the busyness if life – not letting it pass me by without appreciating every minute.

And then I told a friend of mine about how sad I was about saying goodbye to the newborn phase and she said, ‘every stage is beautiful, 3 is beautiful’. And I remembered that as a mum I have so much to look forward to.

It Takes a Village

I’ve had an easy introduction to life as a mum. Mostly because I haven’t been doing it on my own. I’ve heard people with newborns say they struggle to find time to shower or cook. Yet I haven’t really had that experience. I probably have been spoilt with help.

When our daughter was a little 8 week old we packed up our house and went to stay with my parents. Then three weeks later we moved countries and moved in with my in-laws for two months. So, by the time we move again we will have spent three out of the first five months of our daughter’s life living in community.

Living in community is good for babies I can see. Our daughter always has someone to hold her, to play with her, to give her the attention she needs to learn and develop and grow. And she is growing into the friendliest baby – happy to be held by anyone, full of smiles. And it’s good for us as new parents, because let’s face it, few new parents know what to do, or how to get their child to sleep. Our baby doesn’t cry much, but when she does I find myself thinking ‘what is wrong with you?’, ‘I don’t know how to help you’ or ‘why wont you go to sleep???’. And in those moments it is nice to know I’m not standing (because, as those with babies will know, babies always want you to stand…), singing to my child alone.

This is a special time for our family and it feels like everyone is winning. I’ve had many times where I have thought – this is exactly how things are supposed to be, we were never supposed to raise children on our own. As the African proverb says – it takes a village to raise a child. My brother in law loves playing with Nala, singing to her and teaching her to ‘play the drums’. Often she wont let you put her down. So while he creates new games for her and makes her laugh, he doesn’t realise just how helpful he is being.

And yet in our society we believe so much in the nuclear family – mum, dad and children. It puts a lot of pressure on two people to be everything their children need, to constantly entertain them, to make enough money to pay the bills, to manage a household. Maybe this is one of the factors that makes post natal depression rates so high.

But, while I can see that this time is good, it doesn’t feel like real life to me. It feels like a break, a holiday, a transition. It feels like by raising Nala in community, I haven’t been able to work out who we are as a family of three. And I’ve found myself craving to set ourselves up as our own family, to have a place that feels like our home, to share secret conversations in our lounge room again. And so we’ve chosen to move to our own place, and most of the time I can’t wait.

But then Nala has a particularly unsettled night and Gogo (Granny) ties her to her back and she snuggles in and falls asleep. And I think ‘how are we going to get her to sleep when we are on our own?’.

Silent Night. Liquid Gold.

The world is quiet. It is still and dark. But there is a enough light for me to see my daughter's face, full of contentment as she gulps down milk. I watch her suck. I see movement from her cheeks all the way down her throat to her stomach filling up. Her tiny fingers grasp at my hair. It is our nightly ritual, our special time. When it is just the two of us.

She is three months old and in those three months I have watched her grow and grow and grow. Her body is chubby and full of rolls. She is a picture of good health, thriving and strong. Since the day she was born the only thing she has eaten is my milk. And when I look at her I feel so proud. My body created her and my milk is growing her.

It amazes me that from birth she knew exactly what to do and where to get food. She had never seen another baby feed before, but her tiny, wet hands scratched at my chest and she moved around until she pretty much found my nipple on her own and she had her first feed.

Now breastfeeding is how I spend my days. Day in, day out. In bed, on the couch, at a café, at the bank, at a park, in the car, at a wedding, at a funeral. Anywhere, anytime. I feel the two of us are part of a special club, that no one else can help with or join. That I have something that no one else can give her. That my daughter really needs me.

Many mums, who have had a difficult experience, may think I’m delusional saying how wonderful breastfeeding is, when really they know it’s exhausting, painful and hard. And it was hard for me too. I had so much trouble the first 9 weeks of my daughter’s life. I had an oversupply, repeat mastitis and a recurrent breast abscess. I was constantly at the hospital. Even when my daughter slept through the night I couldn’t because I would wake up in puddles of milk and so much pain. I have forgotten how many courses of antibiotics I had to take. I had two breast specialists suggest I give up on feeding. In one way hearing these words was a great relief - they gave me permission to put my body's needs first, they were an acknowledgement that what I was going through was hard, they gave me a way out. And in another way they made me even more sure that I wanted to persist - to continue doing what I knew my body could do, to not give up.

I didn’t continue out of pride, or because I’d been told ‘breast is best’, or out of pressure to be the perfect mum. I continued because of the look of satisfaction and peace on my daughter’s face after every feed, when she was ‘milk drunk’. I continued because I love the closeness of our feeds, the comfort that it gives us both. I continued because of how cute she is when she drinks too fast and ends up totally puffed out and gasping for air. I continued because even though I had trouble, there’s no way I could give it up, because I felt proud of what my body could do. And I continued because it got easier, and better, and my troubles went away. And when they did I was left with just the good bits – the closeness, the convenience, the knowledge that my body is growing a precious life and of course the special (sleepy) moments in the middle of the night.

Once I eventually got into a rhythm I started to love breast feeding, it became easy and I plan to continue for as long as I can. My problems were caused by an oversupply of milk. I decided to use my oversupply to do something good for the world, so I recently signed up to be a milk donor. Each morning I express an extra bottle of milk, which is donated to abandoned babies in Durban who are waiting to be adopted. It's organised by iThemba Lethu, which you can read about here. I've come to feel very passionate about breast feeding, so knowing my milk is helping develop the immune system and health of very vulnerable babies is a wonderful feeling. They don't call it liquid gold for nothing!

Baby Nala's Birth Story

I was blessed with a beautiful, natural and quick birth. At 39 weeks I was ready and waiting for our little girl. I was hoping to meet her soon, but preparing that we might have to wait a while as I’d heard first babies often arrive late. But I had little patience. Each day I would wake up and wonder if today was the day we would meet our daughter.

I’d been having practice contractions and cramping for four days. Each time I felt it I felt excited, thinking our little one might be on her way. But I had to check myself, remind myself that people have braxton hicks for weeks and that she could still be a while away. And each time they went away and I was disappointed, but I continued on life as normal.

We had heard that labour can take hours or even days, so we had prepared ourselves for that. We’d spent a lot of time getting ready. For me it was part of the process of mentally preparing. It was also part of not feeling alone despite knowing that I was the only one who could birth my baby. We’d done a birthing class, we’d hired and met with a doula, we’d read all we could about birth, we’d hired a TENS machine, organised a birthing music playlist, prepared snacks and learnt about acupressure techniques we could use for pain relief. We were planning and hoping for a natural water birth. I had finished work two weeks earlier at 37 weeks and was ready for our baby. I’d nested and cleaned the house and stocked the freezer full of food. As strange as it may sound I was excited by the thought of labour. I had no fear. I felt completely ready, prepared and supported.

In fact few times in life have I felt so supported as the final weeks of pregnancy. From a health perspective I was having a good experience with the hospital, I felt well cared for and that I knew what to do if I had concerns. My husband had risen to the challenge of learning how to be a great birth partner. He had invested lots of time in learning about his role, what he could do to guide me through the contractions and he’d even written poems to help remember all the information. Before I became pregnant we didn’t realise that there was so much to learn and learning about pregnancy and birth reminded me that we are on this journey together. I was confident in having him as my birth partner and there was no one I’d prefer to be by my side. I also had the support of Becky, our doula. It was wonderful to feel there was another women, who was specifically and proactively looking out for me and doing things to support. A few weeks before she had sent me a message while I was at work and said ‘I’m just dropping some birthing tea and dvds in your letterbox for you’. This made me feel very cared for. She also came around to our house to discuss the birth. We created a plan of daily activities to ensure I enjoyed the time while waiting for our baby to arrive. For the first time in my life I felt I had someone looking out for my mental health. I appreciated the acknowledgement that waiting is hard. But luckily for us, we didn’t have to wait too long.  

The day before I went into labour, I did yoga, cooked a huge birthday cake, went swimming and had a wonderful spa at the pool. Sunday morning I had texted Becky to let her know that I’d had quite a bit of cramping, the cramps went away though so I thought it was nothing. Sunday evening we went out to a Chinese restaurant to celebrate a few family birthdays. We walked home from the restaurant and went to bed about 11pm.

At approximately 1am I woke suddenly, my body covered in pain, I jumped out of bed, I knew, without a doubt that this was it, this was not a practice, this was the real thing. We had began a journey that would be fast, furious and change our lives forever. We did not ease in to labour, I didn’t know it but I was probably already fully dilated and in transition.

I ran to the toilet and sat there, shaking from cold and covered in pain. I had not expected so much pain so quickly, I doubted myself. I thought, if this is just starting I don’t know if I can do this. I did not know how to position my body. I remembered all the positions we had covered in our birth class, I ran to the bedroom and knelt on the floor and leaned against the bed. It didn’t help. I went to the couch. I lay on my side, I knelt, I squatted, I stood. Nothing helped. There was no way to position my body.

We didn't call Becky straight away as it was the middle of the night and I thought labour was just beginning. I didn’t want to wake her for no reason. I had planned to use water to help with the pain. I ran the bath and jumped in. But couldn’t find a position for myself. I needed my back and my front in the water but I couldn’t sit or lie down. I tried squatting and kneeling on all fours and rolling around to try to get the water to cover me. But the pain was too much and we needed support so we called Becky. The first question she asked was how far apart my contractions were. We had tried to time them, but I could not tell when one ended and another started. They rolled over me constantly, like a powerful hurricane, one after another, non stop. I seemed to have missed the first stage of labour, where contractions build up in timing and intensity. My mind ran through everything we had planned – acupressure, water, heat packs, TENS machine, hypnobirthing etc. But I was well beyond any of these things. Thinking of them seemed like treating an amputated leg with a bandaid. All I could do was scream. My husband was calm and my absolute pillar of strength. He reminded me to breathe in low tones, looked at me closely and showed me how to breathe. I followed his cues. It gave me something to focus on when I had nothing else, it helped.

The pressure was building, I stood up. It felt like I was about to give birth. But this can’t be it, I thought, this has only just started, everyone knows that birthing takes hours. I was in disbelief until I grabbed a mirror to have a look. I could see a head, covered in hair. I felt like the pressure was going to break me open, I thought there was no way I could get to the hospital. I couldn’t move. Yet I didn’t want to birth the baby at home. In a split second we decided to try to make it to the hospital.

It took all my strength to put on some clothes and walk to the car. I climbed in the back seat on my hands and knees. Percy started driving. I was screaming. I could hear him on the phone, but I couldn’t stop screaming, I had no control over it, it was the only thing I could do. I remember looking up and out the window and seeing we were turning out of our street. It felt like it had taken so long just to get to the end of our street. The hospital is very close to our house, yet the drive was taking forever. I imagined for a second getting pulled over by the police and almost laughed. I thought about how much I would scream at them and how ultimately they would be the ones who would be scared. We turned in to the ambulance entrance of emergency at Box Hill hospital. I got out of the car and leaned my hands against the door. I felt our baby was about to be born right there, like there was no way I could make it inside the hospital doors. An ambulance officer was there. He brought me a wheelchair. “I can’t sit down,” I screamed and I started walking towards the entrance.

I walked in to the hospital and from there everything is a bit of a blur. They told us we arrived at 2:11am and she was born at 2:21. Between that time I climbed on a bed, the first one I saw, on all fours. The room was full of people. I didn’t know who they were and I didn’t care. I couldn’t really hear or see what was going on. I remember my husband was holding my hand. I remember a midwife giving me instructions and me saying “I can’t hear you, speak louder”. I later didn’t recognise the midwife. I don’t remember any pain from this point on, I think I’ve blocked it out. Like a traumatic event, my memory of the actual birth is mostly missing. I don’t remember the first moment that I saw our little girl or when she was placed on my chest, I wish I could remember that second. I know my husband cut the umbilical cord. And the midwife said she was going to give me an injection to birth the placenta. “No, I’ll birth it myself,” I said. And I am so glad that I did. The whole birth had been completely natural and drug free. I had birthed our baby, she was here, I could do anything. I certainly could birth my placenta.

I was wheeled away to the birthing suite, our baby girl on my chest. In the birthing suite Becky arrived. She had come as quickly as she could, but she couldn’t believe it when they told her I’d already delivered.

We looked at our little princess, lying skin to skin on my chest. Her eyes looked back at us, her fingers felt around my chest. All this time we’d waited for her and she was finally here. All the birth preparation and we didn’t use any of it. The birth was everything I had wanted – natural and drug free, quick, with no complications or interventions and in our baby’s own timing.

“Hello Nala, hello Joy,” said Percy. These were names we had already chosen for our little one, and when we saw her we knew they suited her perfectly. Percy was glowing with pride. Our little princess, our joy and our beauty had joined our family. Our life as parents was about to start. It was incredibly overwhelming. I held her and thought – I’ll never let you go. She is our most beautiful gift, our ultimate pride. Fully formed, beautifully and wonderfully made. It blew my mind to think that a person, so perfect and so complete, had been hiding deep inside me all this time. She was exactly as I had imagined her – perfect and peaceful and bright as a button. Welcome little one. Our darling daughter – Nala Joy.

Before She Was Born

My darling girl,

You’re 22 weeks now and growing everyday. I often feel you dancing inside me and that gives me so much joy. It’s like you’re just saying hello, reminding me you are there. You’ve kicked daddy a few times too and he loves it, his face lights up with love. You are extremely active and very healthy. We saw you on the scan and saw how beautifully and wonderfully made you are. You are still small, probably the size of an eggplant but already you are perfectly formed with facial features and 10 fingers and 10 toes.

We so much want to meet you, to see your cute little face and hold your soft skin. I always imagine you as our daughter, growing up kind and strong. I can see you taking your first steps, reaching up to hold my hand. I can see you riding high on daddy’s shoulders. Your daddy and I love you so so much, and we will love you all the days of our lives. When you arrive you’ll know my smell and my heartbeat – you’re the only one who has heard it from the inside. And you will know daddy’s voice because he has been reading to you, at night as we get into bed.

God has placed you in a beautiful world and a loving home and family. He has created you as a gift for us, our special treasure. It amazes me how He made you – the absolute miracle of creation. You were created by God but out of a love that is so warm and so close. I promise that as you grow we will show you this love, create a home for you that is warm and safe and protect you and guide you and never give up on you. We’ll teach you and help you and hold you when you cry. And we will pray for you, as we’ve been doing since before you were conceived. We prayed for your protection, when you were smaller than a grain of sand and so fragile and vulnerable. And God answered because now you are healthy and strong.

My darling, you are only beginning the long journey of life – it is a wonderful journey. What a joy it is that you are about to become part of our journey. Little treasure, we love you.

On Finding Out the Gender

I always thought I wanted a surprise. There’s not many surprises in life and I thought this had to be one of the best. That was until I lost my first precious child without knowing if it was a girl or a boy. I was never able to grieve for a daughter, or a son; never able to picture him or her. I then decided that with the next one, I would find out the gender as soon as I could and give him or her a name.

Some people assume that we found out for the shopping, clothes or the gifts. But for me it was about bonding with and imagining her. After we found out I started to dream about her. And when she was born I discovered she looked exactly like the girl in my dreams.

Knowing helped me prepare to be a mother to a girl. It helped me feel my daughter had an identity and it made me even more excited to meet her.

Finding out felt significant and I didn’t want to do it in the doctor’s room. So I asked the sonographer to phone one of my close friends and tell her. I then invited a small group of friends and family around for dinner. My trusted friend bought a few helium balloons and hid them in a box. My husband and I opened the box and out flew pink balloons! She was only 20 weeks, but already a tiny person. This celebration was important to me – I felt it acknowledged her tiny little life, not who she would be, but who she already was.