been wanting to share this article, it's kind of belated
May 8, 2011
A first-time mum's pain... and joys
No matter how well you research and prepare, it can come as a huge culture shock
By Nur Dianah Suhaimi
Motherhood is no walk in the park, but with the right attitude and support, one will survive the challenge like billions of women in the past who had done so under more trying conditions. -- TNP FILE PHOTO
In the nine months I was pregnant, I had visions of motherhood in soft focus. I'd be sitting in a cafe in a pretty floral dress. I'd be nursing my baby girl, who would be dressed in eyelet lace, and holding a cup of frothy chai latte in my other hand.
I'd be the poster child for motherhood and passers-by would nod and smile when they saw me with my baby because we were the epitome of serenity.
Someone should have pinched me and quashed my daydreams. A week after giving birth, I was permanently in pyjamas at home, trying to console a baby who cried no end and harbouring secret thoughts of throwing her down the stairs.
Nuha, meaning 'intelligent', was born a healthy 3.87kg baby on Nov 5 last year. Even before she came into this world, it was apparent that this little girl wanted things to be done her way.
While gynaecologists guessed that she should leave my tummy some time around Oct 28, she was ready to make her entrance into this world only a week later.
When the doctor put her on my chest seconds after she was born, I expected myself to be like other mothers who spoke about feeling a rush of emotions when they first set eyes on their baby. They would then sniff and tear and offer a finger which would be clasped tightly by the little bub.
I looked at my baby and felt nothing but fatigue. I had a 40-hour labour and did not get much sleep the previous two nights. I also felt extremely hungry. But that was all.
There was no overwhelming rush of emotions and no surge of protective instinct over this baby. A sense of dread crept into me as I realised that I might have been born without a maternal gene after all.
The two days I spent at the hospital was quite a holiday, considering the nightmare that was to follow. Visitors kept me occupied and entertained. Nuha seemed content even though she was constantly passed around. The kind nurses at National University Hospital lavished us with attention and treated us like royalty.
I thought I was prepared to be a mother because during my pregnancy I read religiously and researched widely, everything from breast-feeding to yoga for babies. I lapped up tomes on how to raise a bright child and took elaborate notes on how to teach my baby to sign when she needed the potty.
I thought surviving motherhood was like an exam. If you prepared for it sufficiently, you would do well. But nothing I read prepared me for what was to come.
After leaving the hospital and back at home, I was rudely jolted out of my soft-focal mother-hood daydream into breast-milk-splattered reality.
Nuha cried all the time. She cried when she was hungry, she cried when she was sleepy, she cried when she was being bathed, and she cried each time she had a bowel movement.
It didn't help that confinement was cruel. My belly was so tightly bound up by a traditional post-partum masseuse that I could barely breathe. The only food I could eat had an overwhelming taste of turmeric, and I was prohibited from drinking iced water.
My husband returned to work after a week's leave, leaving me at home alone with the baby. Each morning, I begged him not to go to work, which was of course impossible. Then I would count down the hours until he came home, just so I could pass him the baby and take a break.
I was convinced that Nuha had an antenna which could sense when I wandered farther than 10m away from her.
She would sleep peacefully when I was beside her but the moment I stepped into the bathroom and had shampoo in my hair, she would cry dramatically, complete with loud shuddering sobs.
After being so used to living for myself and by my own terms, it was a culture shock for me to suddenly be dictated to by this little person who demanded to be carried all the time.
So for the first time in my life, I trained myself to finish my meal in less than five minutes and shower in less than three.
Each time after I consoled her and put her to sleep, I would be so drained that all I wanted was to sit back and stare blankly into space.
People kept telling me I should give myself a break and get help, but that was easier said than done. My parents have their own careers while my in-laws run a thriving business. And last I checked, I did not have a governess at my beck and call.
It is true they say it takes a village to raise a child because doing it alone can drive anyone mad.
And I think I was on the brink of madness. I resented it when my husband went out for a jog or took his time in the shower, just because I couldn't do the same. I wanted him to suffer as much as me because Nuha was his baby too. As the other parent, he had to have an equal share of the misery.
But then I reflected on how my own mother survived being a first-time mother 28 years ago, several months after her mother died. She must have felt so lost and lonely, but she never once complained.
It was then that I realised how every mother must have had it difficult, if not worse than me. Mothering is a job which offers no breaks though extremely demanding. But none of these mothers complained.
They gushed about the wonders of motherhood, the unconditional love, the cotton-candy sweetness and the fluff. But they kept to themselves the sleepless nights spent rocking a baby to sleep, the hours spent trying to pacify a crying baby, or the fatigue and frustrations that come with caring for a child.
I just wished that someone could have assured me that it is normal to struggle with a newborn baby and it is all right if I do not feel an outpouring of maternal love in the first few months because things will eventually work out.
Four months came and went and one morning, just like that, Nuha woke up and decided not to cry any more.
Instead of whimpering when she wakes up in the morning, she will smile brightly, showing off her pink toothless gums. Instead of crying for hours in the afternoons, she shows enjoyment in music, books and my clowning around.
I've no idea what caused the sudden change but I do not care because I'm enjoying spending time with her so much that I don't wish to do much else.
I guess motherhood is just one of those things you learn from experience. The learning curve may be steep but you will learn quickly enough and survive the challenges like the billions of women who have done it before.
Nuha turned six months last Thursday and is now a very cheerful baby. She can signal when she wants to use the potty. My parenting research and studies did not come to nought after all.
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