Читать книгу Work. Mama. Life. - Ali Young - Страница 13

My journey into motherhood was an unplanned but much-longed-for surprise. A wedding night baby, in fact. I know … totally ironic for the health professional to have that happen, but hey, apparently it's a thing. Leading up to motherhood, I sold my practice of eight years to my best friend, got married (and pregnant) and shortly afterwards my husband and I moved to Malaysia for a work opportunity for him.

Massive life change. I was exceptionally grateful for the opportunities it offered, but it was a turbulent time too.

We moved to Johor Bahru just after my 20-week scan, with everyone telling me how lucky I was to be gifted all of this time off before the baby came to prepare for their imminent arrival. Even though I'd spent the preceding 12 years working with mums, in retrospect my preparation was, ironically, not exactly what I needed. I was highly focused on the birth and trying to dispel ingrained beliefs that I couldn't birth vaginally due to an off-the-cuff comment from a radiologist who had looked at my spine films when I was 15.

As you can imagine, being hyper-aware of the role that our inner-language can play in our birthing outcomes, I was genuinely focused on shifting that. I worked with a hypnobirthing instructor and a doula, and when I was in Australia, chatted to the midwives and an OB, relaying my fears and concerns, and acknowledging the place I was coming from prior to my baby's birth.

Needless to say, the concept of motherhood at the other side of the birth didn't really cross my mind. Not even once did we have a conversation as a couple or even within my inner circle of what to expect in my motherhood journey. I find it so interesting that I seriously spent more time worrying about the pram I chose than I did about how to parent and mother once our babe was born.

I know I'm not alone in this. On reflection, and chatting with thousands of mums since, this isn't a solo story. Many mums out there definitely go in with a similar thought construct: if I birth this babe a certain way, then all will be perfect.

This strongly feeds into the ‘perfect mother’ myth.

My journey into motherhood was definitely not what I expected. I travelled from Malaysia back to Perth by myself at 35+6 weeks — that is, one day before I would no longer have been allowed to fly because of the gestation of my pregnancy. I left my husband behind in Malaysia, and had three weeks by myself. The fear of going into labour and him not being able to get there in time was big. I'm sure that this led to a heightened stress response on my way into the birthing experience, and possibly the outcomes of birth too.

My birthing began with a hind water leak (a small water leak, not a massive gush) at 40+5 (so 5 days over the expected due date) that went on for a few days. I was in and out of the birthing centre for check-ups over those days. I was trying my hardest with everything to avoid an induction as I understood so intently the cascade of intervention that can happen after that time.

Nevertheless, I ended up being induced, and having a long labour. My doula was present, and every time she left the room to move her car (it went for 18 hours), someone would come in and check me. All the pressures of time were placed on me, and the experience was pretty much the complete opposite of what I had envisaged. While I ultimately avoided a caesarean, the trauma, the use of forceps and ending up in a stark theatre prepped for a caesarean really impacted my initial bonding with my child.

As soon as she was placed on my chest, I felt appreciation for her safe arrival. I felt an element of love, but I didn't feel that overwhelming, life-changing ‘kapow’ moment that everyone told me I would. I had super protective instincts around my child, yet I didn't feel the love-bubble gush I expected. This alone was enough to start my mum-guilt journey. At the time, I didn't realise I didn't have it, but on consideration, my love grew and grew rather than rushing in.

Over the next couple of weeks, we packed up our house in Perth so we could rent it out when we repatriated overseas again, navigated new parenthood, had both sets of parents visit from interstate, celebrated Christmas and then flew back to Malaysia with a 20-day-old child. It felt ‘normal’ at the time, but on reflection it was pretty bloody crazy.

No wonder I felt a little lost.

To top it off, I had all my people trying to help me with advice on what they perceived was or wasn't working with my newborn.

Have you heard these ones?

 Why is she feeding so much?

 Why is feeding taking so long?

 Why is she so small?

 You should be doing …

 You shouldn't be doing …

 You do this with a nappy …

 You do this other thing with a dummy …

 You wrap her this or that way …

I was thrust into discovering that my own personal, good-enough mother concept was based on external elements of the newborn phase like sleep, poo, feeding and settledness. And I pretty much felt like a bit of a failure because, while for years I'd been able to support mothers with the health of their kids, my own child didn't fit the perfect ‘box’ of what a ‘good’ baby does. This common societal measure of a good mother being reliant upon how her child shows up for certain benchmarks really fuelled my unhappiness at the time.

Moving back to Malaysia was isolating. Comparatively, I imagine it was a little like birthing during lockdown and remaining home all the time, with minimal community connection and support being offered. I haven't had to live through significant lockdown in Australia, but in conversation and while supporting women who have, it feels like I had the same brain-based trauma response they experienced. I began doing the things that I thought good mothers did. I exercised, I cooked, I responded to my child as she needed and I ‘wifed’ like a champion.

And yet, I felt like I wasn't a good mother because my daughter thought sleep was for the weak. There wasn't a sleep book I didn't read, there wasn't a friend I didn't lean into, there wasn't advice I didn't think to add to my daily ‘should-do’. But not much helped. Ironically.

And yet, here I am, writing a book on supporting mums to choose their own adventure. I am so thankful for the crazy early introduction to motherhood, as it certainly shaped my journey, my learnings and my passion for mums.