The pressures put on a new mother's shoulders, are immense. You are expected to juggle work, household chores and the grinding routine of a newborn baby, all at once. It's only natural that most of us succumb to Post Partum Depression. 95% of new mothers, are hit with PPD the minute a baby is born. Your mind and body are a hot mess, literally and figuratively.
My baby was one week preterm and underweight. Double whammy! Therefore, he demanded feeds by the hour. I was so disoriented, Batman would have given me his cape in a jiffy. I was conflicted whether to be the sprightly, businesslike Bruce Wayne of the day or the dark, brooding caped vigilante of the night, the Dark Knight. The hero, my newborn deserved, but not the one he needed right now. Wrong! My baby needed a 24*7 Mother Dairy milk farm.
My pediatrician was an impatient Heath Ledger (from the Dark Knight), who kept telling me, "Let's put a smile on that face". The decision to exclusively breastfeed, exclusively formula feed or be a combination feeding mother is purely a personal choice. But no, everyone including my neighbour's dog, was interested to know how much milk I made, to feed my hungry child.
Next, the identity crisis hits. Who am I now? Just a mother? A woman with one pearly white strand of hair, post delivery? Still a wife? Just two seconds ago, I had an enviable social life, where I partied till 2 am in the morning, had a fairly decent job and could eat anything I wanted. But now, I had a tiny human who clung on to me for dear life. His very existence depended on me. (No pressure!)
His hysterical sobs, would leave a bad chemical reaction in my brain. I would immediately get a throbbing migraine and try my best to soothe him (shut him up ASAP, if I have to be brutally honest). Looking back at those first six months, it was not too bad. I was just being a drama queen as usual, I realize. Because, right now, is when I need backup. And by backup, I mean call the fire department and the police station, the baby is on the move. I repeat, the baby is on the move! And he is a house on fire. Anything he touches, breaks. Anywhere, he climbs, he falls. Hell, try carrying him on your shoulder and he will bite you so hard, it will put Romeo and Juliet's hickey marks to shame.
Truth be told, I love being a mom. My maternal instincts kicked into place when I was 4 years old. I had a room full of little dollies whom I dearly loved. I never slept without them at night. I have a real life doll now. Just as cute, but with a stubborn personality. You either give in to him or end up playing Tom and Jerry games all day.
Best to give in, for everybody's peace of mind. And best to listen to your own gut instinct, because no one knows your child, like you do. There is a reason why God chose YOU to become the mother of your child. So the next time your well meaning neighbour says, "Oh, why does your child look so skinny?", or a pleasant relative says, "Oh 9pm is too late to make a baby sleep", just ignore with a massive I-G-N-O-R-E.
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